Do not go gentle…

(Tremont Rd / Great Smokey Mountains National Park / Julie Cook / 2015)

Oh where does ones thoughts go during the mindless drives of back and forth….
Memories come racing back to the forefront of consciousness…
foggy images of childhood slowly refocus…
The happy battling to outweigh the bad…
Songs, rhymes, games, trips, stories…
as the years long past muddle with the present miles ahead…

My current life has ground to an abrupt halt as his current life is slowly departing….

It started out with one day a week…
then two….
then three…
then every other day…
and now it is every day…


It is all so hard…

There are good days, more lucid days…
and then there are bad days…which are growing in number…
then there was the day he tells me I needn’t bother in coming back…
because he won’t be here…

He was…

For we do not know the day nor the time…

That is not to be of our choosing…
only unless we tempt to usurp His timing, His giving, His taking…
claiming it as our own omnipotence.

And so we wait within this odd dance between life and death…
sorting out our strange place within the passing of these two elusive partners..

It is said that Dylan Thomas wrote this poem for his dying father…
as I now find it most appreciate….

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.

Dylan Thomas

23 comments on “Do not go gentle…

  1. Wally Fry says:

    As always, you are in my heart and prayers

  2. Sarah says:

    Very moving, Julie. I’m ashamed to say that, although I was raised in Wales, I am not very familiar with Dylan Thomas’ works. I watched a film based on one of his stories recently – “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” – but that’s about it, I think. I enjoyed it so maybe I should try some more.
    My prayers are with you both. God bless you.

    • Thank you Sarah– I find that the older generation of writers and poets speak more clearly to me the older I become 🙂

      • Sarah says:

        That’s a good insight. I learned to avoid reading poetry in my youth because I didn’t “get it”. But as I’ve grown older and accumulated more experiences I’m finding that it speaks to me much more powerfully, especially, as you say, poetry by the older generations.

      • I was the same– never understood it and found it boring– but age and experience have delightfully lifted those blurry veils

  3. Reblogged this on Talmidimblogging and commented:
    The bittersweet ways of courage and faith…

  4. Lynda says:

    Beautiful poem Julie. What a wonderful and faithful daughter you are to drive to see your dad every single day! Prayers are with you as this must be taking such a toll physically as well as emotionally. May God give you strength and joy in all that you do. Blessings.

  5. ColorStorm says:

    ………..but it’s in that odd dance where and how the great Maestro can be trusted………..

    Easy for me to say huh, Jewels, I’m not on the dance floor! Maybe not today, but yesterday, and certainly tomorrow. 😉

    All the best as you rely on the God of all comfort.

  6. says:

    It sounds as though things are winding down and your dad will soon be in a new body and sitting with Jesus. I did much the same each day when my mom was dying, but I didn’t have to travel so far. Maybe those hours on the road, help put things in perspective. When my dad passed, my sister and I were driving to be with him from Minneapolis to Milwaukee,, I saw a beautiful cloud shaped like a dove and it gave me comfort. That image gave me confidence that dad made it. Love and prayers.

  7. Hugs Julie. No other words. We’ll keep up our prayers

  8. Julie, thank you again for sharing how our heavenly Father is bringing you through this part of the wilderness. As Jerry and I are progressing toward that transition, we are seeing it differently than we used to. Though Adam and Eve’s disobedience brought death, so God uses everything, even the evil of this world to show us the beauty of life that He has planned for us with Him, now and for eternity. Seeing death as the door that our Father opens to bring us to Him makes the concept of finishing this life here more of an anticipation and wonder. Even as poetry has no meaning for us when we are younger, so the thoughts of death have different meanings as we come close to that time of transition. Prayers and blessings in our Lord Jesus Christ for you and your dad in these last days.~ Fran

  9. Oh Julie, those end days are so hard and so stressful for a whole host of reason some that you hit on here. I’m so sorry that you are having to drive back and forth and back and forth. That adds to you stress and fatigue. You are as always in my prayers. Love and hugs, N 🙂 ❤

  10. SLIMJIM says:

    This post reminded me to pray for you and for your father.

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