Do Not Go Gentle....

"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 had 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."

Dylan Thomas

My father has been fading for some time.  Parkinson's disease, smoker's lung, diabetes and arthritis slowed him to a crawl. Increasing deafness added some loss of interest.  Throw in diminishing vision due to macular degeneration, add one minor infection, and voila! You have a fragile old man in a nursing home where once you had a vibrant raconteur at your dinner table, complaining about bumping elbows with the 'righties' at his side. 

My brother and I went to visit him, taking his wife and one daughter each along.  He was alert at lunchtime, but when we came back with a pizza party at 5 o'clock for dinner he was asleep, and nothing we did could awaken him.  He slept in his wheelchair while we shared stories and wings, memories and soda.  And after a couple of hours, the aides came and lifted him into his bed.

I couldn't help thinking as I kissed his forehead that it might be the last time.  The nursing home was supposed to be for rehabilitation, but it looks like he might be choosing gentle over rage this time.

DeeDee