[thenightwriterblog] The Night Writer: Of condolences and "coincidences"

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Posted by The Night Writer:
Of condolences and "coincidences"
http://thenightwriterblog.powerblogs.com/posts/1194145990.shtml


   Many, many thanks for the comments, links and emails from so many of
   you, expressing condolences, prayers and sympathy for the death of my
   father. It's hard to express how comforting such seemingly innocuous
   gestures can be, but I will try in a later post. Suffice it for now
   that my family and I are very touched.
   Here's something kind of interesting: the [1]Diana Der Hovanessian
   poem, "Shifting the Sun," that I posted last Tuesday (Lord, has it
   been that long already?) is a poem that I heard for the very first
   time in January of 1997. I was listening to MPR and Garrison Keillor's
   "The Writer's Almanac" as my family and I packed our bags, having just
   received word that my grandfather had died. I was stunned by the
   appropriateness of that poem on that day, and made a mental note to
   track down a copy of it when we returned home. Obviously I was
   successful, and we eventually placed a copy of the poem in the memory
   book that went out to family members after my grandfather's funeral.
   My father passed away Monday night, October 29, barely five months
   after being diagnosed with lymphoma. On Tuesday morning, October 30,
   The Writer's Almanac featured this poem:

     As Death Approaches
     I can't believe I'm laughing!
     I'd have sworn I'd be
     shaking or sniveling.
     And I sure didn't expect
     a limousine.
     I've never been in a limousine.
     No biggy.
     I've had better than fame.
     Who needs the pressure?
     As for fortune, I'm filthy.
     That's why I'm laughing.
     I've had so much love:
     the giving, the getting.
     It's shameful.
     It's embarrassing.
     And it's too late.
     No one can take it away!
     And I've had the pain
     to help me appreciate it.
     Thank God for the pain!
     Easy for me to say
     now that I'm going!
     But no, seriously,
     the kicks in the teeth,
     the gut, the rugs
     pulled out, slammed doors,
     setbacks, snubs.
     Without them, I'd
     never have recognized
     Love, bedraggled,
     plain eyes shining,
     happy to see me.
     Do I want more?
     Of course I want more!
     I always want more
     of everything: money, hugs,
     lovemaking, art, butter,
     woods, flowers, the sea,
     M&Ms, chips, tops, bottoms,
     trips â I did give up drinking â
     time, sure, and yes,
     I'd like to see
     my grandchildren,
     if there are any.
     I'd like to see my books
     but more has never
     been good for me anyway.
     Enough â that's what I've
     always needed to learn,
     and is there a better way?
     So this laughter
     I had to work up to
     through so many tears,
     it just keeps coming
     like a fountain, a spray.
     Let it light on you
     refreshment, benediction,
     as I'm driven away.
     By Susan Deborah King, from [2]One-Breasted Woman. © Holy Cow!
     Press, 2007.

   There's so much in there that sums up what my dad would have said or
   felt, and for it to appear the morning after he died...and the perfect
   poem after my grandfather's death...coincidence? Oh, but of course.
   I can't say I agree much with Keillor's politics, but I like his
   stories and I enjoy the daily Almanac's. Somehow, however, I see the
   hand of a higher author and finisher.

References

   1. http://sheepmeadowpress.com/pages/author%20pages/der%20hovanessian.html
   2. http://www.holycowpress.org/One%20Breasted%20Woman.htm