On My Mind: Do Not Go Gentle…
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.
~Dylan Thomas
My mother has terminal cancer. At least that’s what the oncologist told me over the phone. He’d read her CT scan and measured the tumors. This was, in his words, her final illness. I asked how long she had left. “Two months” he replied matter-of-factly. He seemed sure. The doctor handed the phone back to my mother. “Well,” she said brightly, “at least we know how this story ends!”
Of course, that was four weeks ago and my mother shows no signs of dying. Although she gets regular visits from the hospice nurse, they haven’t had much to do. She is getting tired, but she isn’t in pain, she still has an appetite, and her spirits couldn’t be better. In the evening, she likes to have a glass of chardonnay and watch re-runs of NCIS. (I suspect she has a crush on Agent Gibbs.) Every time I call her, she tells me not to worry or be sad. “This is just the way things work. We all owe life one death – and I’ve had a wonderful life!”
My mother’s acceptance of death comes as a surprise to me. It was she who introduced me to the poems of Dylan Thomas. In fact, when I was young, she could recite “Do Not Go Gently into that Good Night” from memory. It made quite an impression on me as a child. Based on the poem, I thought death was something one could outwit or postpone by sheer force of will. “Rage! Rage against the dying of the light!” I figured if anyone could outwit death, it would be my brilliant, beautiful mother. But that is not the way things work.
My mother is an atheist, an unfortunate bi-product of growing up a strict Missouri Synod Lutheran. She does not believe there is anything after death; life simply ends, like a candle going out. I have other thoughts on the subject, but we don’t discuss it. As I have said from the pulpit, I do not believe that God sends people to hell; God loves us too much for that. Maybe Jesus will want to have a quiet word with my mother, but whatever glory and wonder comes next, I don’t believe she’ll be turned away when she dies. Boy, won’t she be surprised!
The doctors who thought mom only had two months to live might also be in for a surprise. The way she’s going, she may still be around for Christmas. But you never know. Things can change quickly and I am trying to make the most of whatever time she still has. I call her regularly and we talk about the garden and my children and laugh over shared memories. And at the end of the conversation, I always say, half in jest, “If this is the last time we speak, remember that everything is good between us: I love you and I know you love me.” “I do love you” she replies, “And I know you love me.” I believe that’s how this story ends.
Faith, hope and love – these three endure forever. But the greatest of these is love.
1 Corinthians 13:13
Have a blessed summer.
- Rev. Dr. Shawnthea Monroe