Only Sixty Nine
It was so sad; she was only sixty-nine my friend said.
I was glad we were on the phone, so she could not see my expressions.
nothing sad about a sixty-nine-year-old with dementia dying in her sleep.
dying slowly in a mean, horrible cancer death when you are two is worse.
A young person committing suicide is worse.
A sixteen-year-old who texts and crashes their car is worse.
A woman with dementia dying peacefully in her sleep is grace.
I keep these thoughts to myself.
My father had dementia; it is not a Ferris wheel ride.
My mother was begging for death.
Cancer went from her lungs to her bones and her brain.
That is a horrific death.
Dying peacefully in your sleep at sixty-nine
this is what most of us can only hope for.
Instead, we are taken young and in brutal manners.
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