…..looking forward to death

Answering a question posed to me.


…looking forward to death.

He was the old man in the group (no one remembered his name). No one knew how old. If he’d been asked, he would have said—“Old enough to know that Death is only a step or two behind. I will not stop to meet him , but neither will I move to avoid him.”

But of course, no one asked, and the day came that he came no longer, and no one remembered his name, or even that he had been there.


Yes. I am waiting for death. What I will speak, here, in explanation, I will speak as fact, not complaint.

In short, I am tired. I am approaching seventy-four. My life has been a long struggle—physical and emotional abuse as a child, emotional abandonment, difficulty in trusting relationships, difficulty in crying out for help because I did not know what the help I needed was— always full of creative promise without a reward of real fruition.

I do not blame anyone for that last. There has always been some lack in the center of me—some schizophrenic divide between will and action. I go so far, and then no further. Some clue for this came in my fifties. I was diagnosed as bi-polar effective. I took an odd comfort in hearing that diagnosis—at least I was effective in something.

Lest you think so, I have not surrendered. I keep trying. Still, I am a realist. The aftermath of Cancer, the removal of some misfuctioning organs, a machine monitoring my heart-beat, all have taken their toll. Time is short, the end is inevitable. My bucket list contents have shrunk only to the wish that I go before I become an unresponsive duty for others; add the hope I go as painlessly, and as quickly as possible. I will lay aside the daily pains and physical impediments and welcome the dark.

I have prepared for my end. I will be cremated without ceremony and as quickly as possible. I have no belief in a life hereafter, and my only vanity instuction is that my ashes will be spread in the ocean bordering Venice Beach, CA, or barring that, Lake Michigan. I will leave no seed. A small bit of the eternity of my forbears, that was, through me, will pass with me. To them, I apologize.

Do not weep.  That I have lived, is enough—and this is the only answer I can give.


About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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3 Responses to …..looking forward to death

  1. ‘Liking’ this post seems somehow perverse and not quite the right response.


  2. Nancy says:

    I get this, maybe more than I want to admit, but, I do. I hope, though, that death isn’t scurrying up the back of your leg, but is dawdling, somewhere back down the road.

    Maybe you’ve left no genetic seed. You have, though, scattered seeds of life among those of us who call you friend. We are blessed.

    Love you.


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