Do We Ever Know?

Did she know,
setting the empty bottles
on the stoop,
or later, reading the daily
while sipping first morning tea?

Did she have an inclining
as she dropped a letter in the post,
stopped to chat with an old friend,
then hurried home from the shops
to get out of the rain?

And later,
returning from Judo,
as she gave into sudden malaise
and lay down on the bed,
pausing before tending to dinner,
did she know this was the end?

(I wrote this thinking of my Grandmother on her last day, and of course, contemplating my own demise.  I post it here in light of the anniversary of 9/11.  Do any of us know?  And does it matter?  Death leaves so many unanswered questions in its wake.)



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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

26 thoughts on “Do We Ever Know?”

  1. I love how you crafted this poem. As I read, I kept wondering what it was that she didn’t know was going to happen. The suspense ended with such a tender reminder of this reality. Lovely poem on many different levels, V.J.

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  2. I suppose most of us don’t. This is a lovely poem, that certainly leaves the reader pondering. Her last day sounded, so normal, and pleasant. I think I’d be okay with that.

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  3. Beautiful poem, and thought-provoking … re self, loved ones. I hope I can remain curious about these matters right up to my final breath. What matters (to me and I think for me) is not fearing death. I know better than to think I’ll be “ready” to go …

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