When life's going well and our health is good,
We've got the drive and means to go far,
And we seem to have the world by the tail,
Do we appreciate how lucky we are?
 
My thoughts are on a particular person:
Brittany Maynard--a daughter, a wife--
Young, vivacious, compassionate, caring,
Full of dreams, at the prime of her life,
 
Until she found she had brain cancer--
Glioblastoma--an aggressive assault--
Which turned Brittany's life upside down
And brought her dreams to a sudden halt.
 
Given six more months to live,
She pondered her options and moved to a state
Where she could decide to die with dignity
Before it ended up being too late.
 
Terminally ill Oregon residents
Who are mentally competent can make use
Of the Death with Dignity Act of Oregon.
Established safeguards prevent its abuse.
 
Verbal, cognitive, and motor loss,
Possible morphine-resistant pain,
Major changes in personality,
Paralyzing seizures--hard to contain--
 
Were what Brittany had to look forward to.
Such an existence, so grim and so bleak,
Was not what she wanted her family to experience:
Her constant suffering, week after week.
 
In her last months, Brittany had traveled.
She'd shared her feelings; for example, she'd say
It's important to do what's important to us.
In other words, we should seize the day.
 
To her family in November 2014
Brittany said her final good-byes
And peacefully went on the final journey--
The one that transcends both the earth and the skies.
 
I wouldn't wait around for a miracle
If I had to deal with what Brittany went through:
Inoperable brain cancer!
I'd hightail it to Oregon, too.

- by Bob B

He was there at her bedside when the light left her eyes.
Speed was essential if her brain were to survive.
Cryogenically frozen, her head stored away,
She awaits resurrection, he longs for the day.

She was taken so young; she was just twenty four,
when her glioblastoma resurfaced once more.
He had made her a promise; he spent all they'd raised
In hopes she’d return to him some far off day.

Science has made great strides in perusing the brain,
In mapping the paths by which personas are made.
In time, with more study, it could be arranged,
for robots to house in their digital brains
the essence of all that his love was and knew.
Could it possibly work? Could a thing become you?

Imagine that reunion some sixty years hence;
when the Love of her life is old, tired and spent.
She will have been digitally remastered;
Her body now perfect, her “skin” alabaster.
She might even her old self resemble,
Provided they have the right parts to assemble.

Would the spark be rekindled? Had the flame ever died?
Could he resume where they left off; his love by his side?
Or would he be like an Alien to the ghost in the machine
having lived long apart while she slept with no dreams.