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Jonathan Moya Mar 19
Many say the last thing the dying see
is the flap of dove wings
or Jesus caressing their hair.
Her hallucinations were full of Him
smiling at her, speaking words
she could not understand.
And when I draped the
blanket over her cold feet,
crowned with the blue bruise
of all her past complications,
she was convinced I was Him.  

I played the game.  
“Hush, little one.  
I am here for you.  
Do not be afraid.”
I left for a moment.
I wept.
She had fallen asleep.

Before I could
return the next day,
she had passed.

Her eyes were closed.
Her mouth was a half smile,
as if she had heard a bell,
had tasted the sweetest thing.

I wondered what was that last
great thing she had heard or seen,
but she had taken her memory with her.
Marco Feb 12
You're not a man for everyone -
a lover by his lonesome
a companion for the heartbroken
a simplicity in the chaos;

a voice, so rough and gentle in the night,
a silence gone too soon, a light
that fizzled out the day you died
a roaring emptiness left behind.

You're standing in the darkness as if you always had
made a home there and put yourself to bed
made your peace there and found your quiet love
the only light you let in, it came through the cracks,
a spotlight from above.

Now mercy shall not rage and death does not win
a man of constant sorrow you were in your comfortable sin
you offered them a hand, the royal and the slave
even the willow weeping gently over your dark grave.
Kind of chaotic in its style and rhythm due to heavy emotions, I wrote this after Leonard Cohen's passing.
3 years ago my teacher
asked me to write my own obituary,
as an exercise in self-study...

I wrote that I was a good mother...
    Was I?
    Am I?
I’m not perfect!
        Like every other mother...
Please don’t judge me!
Please don’t judge anyone!
Even your mother...

Was she ever perfect?
    Were you?
The moment you were born....
You were a perfect baby,
Your mom was a perfect mother...
Life happens... and happens... and happens...
Love happens too...
So much love...
    So much milk...
        So much sweat...
            So much tears....

How can I write my own obituary?
Jon Thenes Sep 2019
i gratefully mourn your tragedy
and thank you
for providing charity toward my meaning

i’ve followed your information for a long time
though i longed for a more extensive feed
the manner of your exit drama...

..the piece was both satisfying and complete

myself ?
i’ll leave a dim reading behind

when my individual concept ceases
few shall take a personal interest

this is fine also

                               - an onlooker
Descendant of mainly Mormon pioneers
I didn't expect to find any witches
As I dived into my
But then I opened up
The box in my parent's attick
Called "Maleta's Kid's Keepsakes" and now,

I am feeling pretty
About Grandma
Did I really know her?

Just processing what's
In that first box
Has me with a million
I'll never ask

In person
Grandma Maleta
E B K Oct 2018
If you died tomorrow
could I write your obituary?

It would start of course
with your name, birthday,
the day you died
what school you went to

I could say the Before
you had two dogs and a cat
you loved to rock-climb
and do logic puzzles

Math was your thing
it never was mine
your hand always shot up into the air
faster than I could think

You liked doing back bends, and flips
with me supporting you, on the lawn
we floated from friend group to friend group
not really staying, or clinging on

You invited me to a sleepover
just you and me
before our seventh-grade dance
sleeping on your floor
as happy as can be
we had no secrets to tell
as we fell asleep

we were that close

And then
came the After
now that I could not write

I guess I could say

"She got straight A's in high school
and had many friends.
She had inside jokes
with the people she met"

I think

Writing the During
would be just too painful

what could I say?

It was a text
then a letter reply
You couldn't "thank me enough"
For what we had

That's not an obituary
I can't write that

I could write the Before
and then pass it on
to your new friends, any friend
because for me, you are gone

except for the sliver in my heart

Survived by mom, dad, and younger sister
Xander King Aug 2018
Charlie was my pet rat.
She died in my arms this morning.
Her birthday was a week away and even though I knew she was old and frail nothing could have prepared me for it.
My boyfriend found her leaning against the side of her cage confused.
I had no idea how long she had been like that.
I held her for hours while I waited for my mom to take us to the vet to say goodbye.
She had a stroke so half of her body didn't work, she didn't have control of her tongue or left eye.
After a few minutes she seemed less confused as she recognized my scent and heartbeat.
Since her eyelids didn't work anymore I had to help her blink.
Her tongue didn't work so I slowly let water and yogurt run down her throat so she wouldn't be dehydrated or hungry.
This was the first time we ever cuddled, she never slowed down enough to be held for longer than a couple minutes
She was the reason a group of rats are called mischief
If there was get into you know she'd be leading everyone else to it.
She would be your best friend if you shared your food and would still love you when you didn't
She loved her chin scratched and tried to eat my **** a few times.
Even at the end of her life she'd still chitter her teeth and boggle every time I'd put my lips to her little forehead.
Even in death her beautiful soul and pure love lit up the room
She passed a couple seconds after my mom walked through my front door.
After I took her to the vet to get her paw prints he promised me she went peacefully.
That she felt no pain and the DMT in her brain made sure she was happy.
At least she wasn't alone.
I hiked into the mountains walking down the river with my best friend in a box till I found the spot her old friends were buried.
As I write this that spot and moment feels so far away.
Like it was some ghost of myself that held her through the seizures and that covered her body in dirt.
I feel like my spirit left with hers.
Her love, like all animals was pure.
She never loved because of what I gave to her, she loved me for me.

She was my Charlie, my Char char, my charbean, my little ragdoll, my food ***, my little derp, and occasionally my little *******. She was my optimism and the silver lining to every bad day. But most importantly she was my baby and I promised to love her forever and even though she is gone I will always keep my promise.
Trevor Dowe Nov 2017
He died of a chronically broken heart, having fallen in love with the spark in almost everyone he met. It was always some combination of their beauty, talent, and personality. While he was always supportive of them and did his best to make them feel good, he was too afraid to tell them what he felt. Those little secrets tore his heart to shreds and he slowly withered away.
I remember hurricane Katrina
And how it ravaged your state, you wanted to wait it out
Sit on the roof and watch the flood water disintegrate all you knew
I wasn't there but I have implanted memories of you and your father
Smoking cigarettes on top of your house
Laughing about the rage of nature
I remember skipping school in elementary
We used to walk down the paths and go into the woods and douse ourselves in creek water
And there was nothing I knew better than your face at this time
You were my brother and my best friend
And I begrudgingly remember you strung out and treating me like ****
But I knew it wasn't you who was getting kicked out of my house
It was the ******, and whatever else it might've been
I never thought you'd die alone
With not much to say for-
Not much to live for, I guess
But I knew you lived for us, Sam and I
Because when mom went you knew we needed help
And you were the big brother, and we were your precious sisters
There's nothing poetic about the way you left us at young 34 years old
And I will never forgive black tar and needles
I hope the boat you depart on burns to nothing but your ashes
And the sea takes you to a place better than ****** ever could
I never thought I'd see the day your name made it to the papers
Maybe as a success, maybe as a life that was made out to be something beautiful
But instead, I've seen you in the obituaries
Justin Colter Stilling,
That name belongs to death now.
I wish I could see you off on your trip to the other side
But instead I'll be wasting away remembering you for what you were
And it makes me wonder, how and why
We all have to die
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