Do not go gentle into that good night


My Mother passed today. She was 80 years old. She was a Christian. She was the sweetest kindest most gentle soul that I have ever known. I cannot begin to express the sorrow that now fills my soul. I will miss her gentle guidance, and warmth. Her faith in Jesus Christ was the brightest shining light in my life. From her, I learned compassion and mercy. I learned what a true rock of stability in times of tribulation was.

On September 6th 2016, she was admitted into the hospital. She has having trouble breathing. She was initially diagnosed as suffering from a pulmonary edema. Later it was discovered that she had pneumonia. The pneumonia and pulmonary edema resulted in two heart attacks and a stroke. She had Congestive Heart Failure, which she had battled for over 20 years.

In the end, after EGG had determined that she had suffered Brain death, I was left with no choice but to request that the ventilator that was keeping her body alive be switched off. To say that it was the most difficult decision I have ever made, would be a understatement of EPIC proportions.

My mother was my dearest and closest friend. I have spent the last 16 years looking after her. They were the most wonderful and most painful years of my life. The last 8, I have spend basically at her side.

If anyone knows a way to make this easy… Yea… dont bother calling. Yes it hurts. it hurt’s more than I can say or you can know. But I don’t really want that hurt to go away. I want it to be something that I can live with. she was my best friend in the whole world. I don’t ever want to get over losing her, I just want to be able to endure her passing.

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.

Advertisements