Do You Think About Dying

This is not to scare you, but
Sometimes I think about dying.
We all do, sometime.
Die, I mean.
I don’t think we all think about it.
Kind of a shame
when you think about it.
I first learned about dying
when I was six.
An uncle and a cousin that I’d just met.
It made a happy Christmas
not quite as happy.
I knew what sadness meant
because my grandmother had never been
so sad.
And then, when I was 20
I lost my Andy
who had just turned 21
and I was as sad as I had ever been
for a very long time.
Great grandmothers died
and then great aunts and uncles.
Friends
and sometimes their children.
A beautiful sweet mother-in-law.
My father
died
too soon
to see his beautiful granddaughter
all grown up and married.
And then my grandmother.
When it came to
final hours
for
my mother
my husband
Not to be too morbid
I knew I had no choices
My place was at their bedside
As a witness to their passing.
As an acknowledgement
of my own mortality.
I will die, too.
There’s just no escaping it.
And so I think about it.

What kind of death would I want
What kind of death I would choose
If I could choose
If there were choice about it.
Could I just fall asleep one eve
and not wake up one day?
With bills unpaid and taxes unfiled
Dirty dishes in the sink
Confessions unconfessed
Or would I prefer to go in a flash
an instant
blind-sided
Whoosh.
Either way
there is no mistaking
the importance
of these moments.
There are no do-overs.
Either way.
No apologies that matter.
Things left unsaid are left unsaid.
One day when I am dead.