Speechless

I'm a bit stunned right now. I started 2007 with three grandmothers: maternal, paternal and step. And it appears I'll wrap up the year with none.

In July, my paternal grandmother died somewhat suddenly. And Saturday my paternal stepgrandmother died quite suddenly. At the same time, we await news on my maternal grandmother, who has not been doing well for quite some time, and who is basically a second mother to me. I spent my first 18 years with her either next door or down the hall. It's been very strange to see her sick for so long. And it will be stranger to have her not around.

It's been a strange year. A strange six months. And I'm oddly speechless about it all right now. But the following poem comes to mind. It's one I remember studying in freshman English back in high school. I remember discussing the meaning, about life and death ... and living. It was also a time I can remember all three of my grandmothers being very alive, and a time when I got to interact with them under the mindset of still-childlike wonder. Before I got too busy. Before I got wrapped up in growing up.

Each of my grandmothers lived zestfully in their own way ... it's going to be weird going into 2008 without their presence.


Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
By Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words have forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.