May 13 2007
Twenty-Two
Those who have experienced loss are reminded that death is not negotiable — it is inevitable.
With an acceptance of that truth, you might discover a freedom to devote yourself in the
remaining time to “service,” however, you wish to define service.
Recently, I asked a close friend what he would do differently if he knew that he had twenty-two
years remaining on this earth, and a soul-searching sharing ensued. (Acutally, for me twenty-two years
would be a generous allocation since I would be ninty years old.)
Later, I thought more on this theme and wrote the following poem.
Time will tell how much contemplating my demise has affected me.
“Twenty-Two”
The Angel of Death,
A robust shade,
Whispers menacingly,
Twenty-two years,
As if to fright –
Only twenty-two seasons
Still yet to celebrate,
And not one moment more.
Eight thousand lattes,
Three million smiles,
Thirteen thousand prayers,
Two hundred forgiveness-es,
Six hundred fifty care-gives,
And so much more,
But who is counting,
So he surmised.
In the buzz zone of life
Where chores, successes dominate,
Greet this worthy messenger,
Who snares attention,
In whispers and foreboding look.
Don’t turn away disheartened,
Gloomy, wracked in fear.
Look at him intently.
See recognition in his eyes,
Soft lines about his face,
Tenderness as he reminds –
Twenty-two and not a moment more.
