An aged child, I watched you as you died,
Slowly at first for you yet believed
At first in diet and then in faith,
Albeit your hopes were quite deceived.

You staunchly refused to have chemo,
Since radiation sickened you so.

The healers all came and laid on hands
Covering your head with olive oil.
You thought there was much reason to live,
But still your health continued to spoil.

And then you died, your innermost light,
Your source of will, the strength of your fight.

And afterwards little time was left,
And you were deteriorating,
Spewing acid words to maim my faith.
Your spirit was debilitating.

Your muscle reduced to nothingness,
Your stoicism into tenderness.

You whittled a wooden pry bar pick
To open your nearly lockjawed mouth
For liquid drops to tease the hunger.
Your ravaged being headed south.

The bastion of manhood I once knew,
Wasting, lucidity failing you

Nor pranks nor jokes would ever more play
The mage who could make the skies rain gum.
A frail filament nigh to burn out
We gave our last regards one by one

In a small window of remembrance
While morphine and pain were no cumbrance,

And you died as she held your shriveled hand,
Never making it past forty-two.
And since there was nothing we could give
To mitigate pain or restore you,

Your death was a gift on Christmas Day;
You died forgiven in every way.