To the One Who Remains
If I had the choice,
If the end came my way,
I’d decree no slow good-byes,
No piteous fading aways.
The sometimes knowing your wife, your son,
But sometimes talking as though they were someone,
That you knew long ago, but who long ago died,
No mixing of now with a far gone time.
But I cannot choose.
I am not God.
I don’t have His power or wisdom or sight,
To know what serves His good purposes now.
So I watch and cry a tear
From time to time,
Cringe at frantic eyes darting left and right,
Trapped, confused, flashing with fright.
It’s OK, Mom. It’s OK, Dad. I’m right here. We’re fine.
Won’t we thrill to close our eyes one of these times,
Then awake, looking straight at the Lord in surprise?
I hardly can wait.
Let’s talk about glory, heaven, eternal adventures and joys.
While talking still computes,
Before minds no longer enjoy,
Thoughts of bliss, no more tears, having bodies like His!
When words no longer hold meaning,
They say hymns often get through,
I may try that one kind act to bring comfort and joy,
To the one who remains somewhere deep down in you.