It is certain that I will die. Death is neither a personal nor a medical faliure. When I die, I hope not to drag along with me the lives of those I love. Rather, let them rejoice in my passing, the next step on my path of learning. My death here is a birth elsewhere, and as this world is lessened, another is enriched. When we are born, we cry, but the whole world is overjoyed. When we die, the whole world cries, But we may find great liberation. I tearfully celebrate the memory, the paths of the departed; in their honor, I live.
Reason for writing:
Writtem for (and read at) the memorial service for
Chuck Gallagher, who died in Antarctica on 1 May 1997.
Service held on 3 May 1997 at Chapel of the Snows
McMurdo Station, Antarctica
Birth sign: Not entered
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Russ Bixby, Aquarious.