“Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night…”

I was just remembering this day, a little while ago. Such a traumatic, powerful experience. The truth, there was my mother covered in her own excrement, the smell enough to make us all gag. She was terrified; I’ll never forget her frantic eyes, when I came in that room. The other truth, I stripped to my underwear. I didn’t care who saw me, but writing it (then) was too much. I held my mom in that shower; cleaned her, as she most surely cleaned me in babyhood; and, I held on tight to her. I brushed her hair. I rubbed lotion into her dry, dying skin. I stayed until she was resting. The end was so close and each day was hard. And so good too.

TALES FROM THE MOTHERLAND

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO
THAT GOOD NIGHT

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage 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,

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About Dawn Quyle Landau

Mother, Writer, treasure hunter, aging red head, and sushi lover. This is my view on life, "Straight up, with a twist––" because life is too short to be subtle! Featured blogger for Huffington Post, and followed on Twitter by LeBron James– for reasons beyond my comprehension.
This entry was posted in Grief/ grieving, Huntington's Disease, Loss, Mothers, The Huntington's Chronicles, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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