NOTE: A revised version of an August 25th post—tweaking a few lines of the poem. Otherwise, the same story.
When death comes to call
A FORMER colleague is visiting Spokane over the weekend. We had worked together on the Palliative Care Team at Sacred Heart many moons ago. She is now the Medical Director at a hospice in Indiana and we got to talking about her new job; as we spoke, I was transported in the Way Back Machineto a former time, place and space. While back there, this poem appeared.
Parental advisory: It’s about death and dying.
Having had stage-3 cancer twice along with a supposedly irreversible and terminal post-op complication,* I’ve become well acquainted with death. I’d say we were already old friends when we first met in this lifetime.
I think this poem is for anyone whose body has scheduled a preliminary meeting with him. If so, I hope it’s helpful.
And so it goes…
Prior post here.
*We got it reversed through non-medically-sanctioned means. Medical science knows a lot, but it doesn’t know everything.
