I
only knew Diana through her blog, which I’ve been following for some time now.
The concept of her blog was simple, to blog and post her poetry about living,
and dying, with MS, over the last 40 years. Her achievement was immense. There
are two words that sum up her poetry for me, first honest, sometimes brutally, then beautiful.
Diana
died 4.00am Thursday morning.
I
hope her blog and poetry site are both kept going; in case not, however, I
recommend a few contemplative hours reading them.
Condolences
to Diana’s family and close friends.
Diana’s
poem below is one of my favourites, because it shows despite the disease, she
was living life on her terms:
I have
sprung a leak, am taking on water.
Perhaps
in my sleep, I drifted across
a ragged
rock or coral reef.
It's not
yet dangerous: no sound
of
swooshing in the hold.
But it's
only a matter of time.
I have
presented myself
with an
arbitrary date: forty weeks,
a
spiritual pregnancy.
The bell
rang for my birth and marriage;
it's time
now for the third bell.
I have to
learn how to die,
to die
with dignity; not sign off
a snarky,
snivelling wretch.
I am
practicing stoicism.
I am
loving more deeply
the
things that matter: visits from friends,
music,
light on the walnut tree.
It's been
several years since I have seen
the night
sky; so I will be taken out
to drink
my fill of moon and stars.
“Virgin
namesake, moon-Queen at night fall.”
Or, the
Duchess of Malfi's magic words:
“Look
you, the star shines still.”
My mind
wavers and I wonder at times
whether I
can retain my stubbornness.
But then
I remember the hardship
of each
days waking,
remember
I can no longer consent
to the
pain and endurance,
nor
transform them into any
meaningful
pattern.
I am
asked whether I will find it hard
to say
goodbye. But, consider
how many
times I have already said it:
feeding,
cleaning, dressing myself
turning
over in bed
walking,
singing, playing the piano,
cooking,
stitching my tapestry,
hugging
my friends from their or my need.
The list
could go on forever.
I have
lived, so far, nearly three
of the
forty weeks yet to come.
There
will be only one ending,
an ending
I must learn to trust.
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