Jay D Weaver's Thought for the Week

On Death and Dying

Life is Precious

One of the troubling things we face as we age is watching our friends die. This week I lost a long-time friend and colleague, Robert Shaak. He died at 6:00 AM on Thursday, May 27, 2010 in his sleep after a long and difficult illness. He fought hard, but in the end death claimed him. He was a good man and cared deeply for his family and his friends. We will all miss him.

We all have experienced the unexpected loss of friends and loved ones. Most of the time, we unabashedly view death as the enemy and rightly so. He cuts a young life short in an automobile accident. He seizes those in apparent good health and slays them with strokes and heart attacks. He stalks those in the land of the living and unceremoniously drags them into the land of the dead.

Yet, there are times when we view death as a welcome visitor. When someone goes through years of drifting into that dark prison called Alzheimer's, we view the death of the sufferer as a release to them and to us. After long, painful bouts with cancer, a patient may pray for the release of death. When debilitating diseases cause the body to begin shutting down, the strength to fight is severely diminished.

As our lives go on, we march steadily but surely towards the moment when we will draw our last breath. We all live with a longing to somehow find entrance into a new life beyond the grave. The mystery of that possibility has not been revealed to us mortals, but it does give us the courage to look death squarely in the face.

I always receive a spiritual recharging when I read Dylan Thomas' poem entitled, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night." It speaks so eloquently to the gift of life and to the human spirit that clings to that remaining spark of life until the very end.

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night

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

Return to Poetry and Music Commentary