Your Dying Spouse 439 - Final Thoughts, Maybe {FMF}

I sure don't want this to be the end. But now every word has to count. I'm choking on every breath, and it's ugly.

Coming to the end of my strength, barring a remission, and have to cannibalize another blog comment I made. Please pardon my inability to respond to comments at the moment; I treasure them all, please know this!

You guys have brought meaning to the end of my life.

This is my version of Emily Dickinson's "The Chariot", perhaps her most famous poem. I hope that she'll forgive me (and that you poetic types will, too).

Because I could not stop for Death,

he kindly stopped for me;

and then drove on with intaken breath

on facing my Glock 23.

—

He wanted to offer the boon of rest

my labours now complete;

but my blood I shed, merely a test

to show that I won’t retreat

—

The mission ahead, now blinding-clear

to attend to tasks undone,

to face hell’s fire with no fear

and outrace the setting sun.

—

The heavenly multitudes wish I’d quit,

they ache at cheering the dying.

But work remains and I’m still fit

to kill myself in the trying.

This originally appeared on a Books and Such blog post, as a comment.

In fairness, here's the original poem from the Belle of Amherst:

Because I could not stop for Death
He kindly stopped for me
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality

We slowly drove, he knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too
For his civilityWe passed the school where children playedTheir lessons scarcely doneWe passed the fields of gazing grainWe passed the setting sun

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground
The roof was scarcely visible
The cornice but a mound

Since then 'tis centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity

Music from Mike And The Mechanics, with All I Need Is A Miracle.

If you're interested, you can find Andrew's books on Amazon.