When death comes calling, crouching at my side, whispering in my ear, then stretching out upon me like a shroud, shall I go willingly, relieved, or shall I resist, saying there’s more that I’ve yet to see and feel?
When my heart stops beating, shall I rise above and look upon my body regretting, when my voice is silent, shall I be content and yet think, “Have I said all I needed to say?”
When I can no longer hear the birds’ sweet singing, will I be able to recall all their morning melodies and the way they hop, skip, and flit about?
When I can pet no more, will I be able to remember the last time I placed my hand upon my dog’s face, or soft underbelly as I whispered, “you’ve given me way more than I could ever give you.”
When death comes calling, will my lovely wife and “God send” of a son remember my love for them. Will I have left spiritual gold for them to handle? Will my daughter ever be able to rise above our troubled relationship. Lauren, I blame myself.