I really don’t know how to die.

I’m supposed to be an expert 

on life and death.

In fact, I’ve been knighted 

to shepherd people 

into this life,

and out again. 

I’m charged with helping 

babies birth safely,

women deliver safely,

and everyone die safely,

though I hear the last is inherently so.

 

The glitch is, 

I’ve never died before,

and though opinions abound,

facts are hard to find. 

I’m baffled by the secrecy

around this specific passage. 

          Whenever I detect a secret, 

          I suspect a lie.

I don’t trust anything

anyone says 

about dying, or its value,

unless they’ve died before. 

 

            (Not to be critical or nitpicky or disrespectful, but

             Jesus really should have said more about this.)

 

Come to think of it,

nobody told me how to be born either. 

My birth just happened, 

unexpectedly. 

I had no choice in the matter.

True, it was jarring-

something suddenly squeezed me tight 

and pushed me through a tunnel

into this wondrous light.

To be honest, the passage was a bit scary. 

I heard lamenting cries

with each compression of my torso,

then a vice grip around my head.

I sensed commotion,

then a rush of cold air, 

and so much jostling. 

           No more floating coziness. 

All I could do was cry,

while everyone else 

seemed thrilled about the situation. 

 

I’ve heard a few people describe nearly dying.

Apparently, they have forayed, or strayed, 

forward faster than their time,

and returned to share,

something about a tunnel 

leading into a bright light,

something about immense peace, 

and a suffusion of love.

It sounds mistily lyrical, 

and cozy,

in contrast to the cacophony and tumult

Of the (presumably) first passage.

 

I wonder why everyone wants to prevent 

the voyage through the next passage

into potential serenity, 

especially if they’ve never done it before. 

Did they also want to prevent me from being born?

I suppose, since noone really knows,

the (presumably) second passage could be as frightful, 

and perhaps equally or more worthy of celebration.

 

I hope for mine they 

despatch pastel pink and blue

and sunny yellow 

death announcement cards,

with a color glossy photo capturing 

the very moment,

and a cartoon image 

of a magical bird carrying me forward.

 

I hope they

pop several bottles of sparkling champagne, 

hand out many boxes of cigars and sweets,

have a dance party that rocks the planet,

and congratulate my family heartily,

with pats on their backs,

on my safe and healthy death.

 

At the end of the evening,

I hope everyone gets

a vanilla frosted angel food cupcake,

to make a wish only I can hear, 

and blow out a candle

that sends their yearnings on with me,  

for someone also told me

it is easier to help fulfill dreams

from the other side of this tunnel.

 

Maybe death showers, like baby ones, should be a thing too,

to gift my family adorable

useful things by which

to celebrate, 

or grieve, if they must. 

            Survivor’s choice. 

I could also give away all the stuff, 

I can’t take with me. 

Timing a death shower might be tricky, 

since the passage often arrives as a surprise, 

like so many of the best things in life.

 

From the moment a sperm and ovum unite,

           also, so often, unexpectedly, 

           an unplanned serendipity

           even when preconceived,

they are destined to die together, 

           (or rather, I am.)

There’s no escaping it. 

Until death do they part, 

           (or rather I depart.) 

I wonder if those two, 

the ovum and the sperm,

knew they’d made a death pact, 

superseding any birth agreement, 

devoted to avoiding the unavoidable, 

and if I now let it, 

the fear of death 

robbing me of

the joy of frolicking 

in their fortuitous, fateful union. 

 

Ill-prepared, ignorant, and innocent, 

I succeeded at my birth.

Yet, I really have no idea how to die. 

I suppose, when the clock strikes, 

I’ll get the yank, through the tunnel, 

into the light, 

perhaps without notice or instructions,

and most likely completely unrehearsed,

because ultimately, birth, 

life, and death are improvised

 

— jaysi, jul 2020