Monday, September 1, 2014

Patrick Alan Coons, January 3, 1954 - January 22, 2014

It has taken awhile for me to post about my brother's death. I received the call January 22, 2014 from Patrick's girlfriend's daughter. Though I knew it was coming, I still was not prepared. Even writing this now months later is very hard for me.  It is impossible to imagine a world without my brother in it. To say that he was larger than life would be an understatement. Pat enjoyed life to the fullest. He had lots of friends and they were loyal to him.  Many of them could not cope with his illness, much as I had such a hard time. Many would cry when they saw him wasting away, much as I did. Oh, how that upset him. He never once complained about his fate, the pain, or the suffering. He never once elicited so much as the slightest sound that made you feel he was thinking about death at all. I think he was ready to go and he lived his life right up to the end. I talked to him the day before he died. He was barely understandable but I could make it out. He told his girlfriend, Lynn, that I was coming to see him. She said he told her that a lot. When he left this earth, he took a part of me with him. And though it comforts me to know he no longer suffers and that he is with so many who have passed before us, I would give anything to see him one more time. His life goes on though. His son, Andrew, and his wife, Val who are expecting their first born, a son, on this very day. I know Pat watches down on them and will always do so. I know how much it meant to him to be reunited with them before he passed. I miss the brother who always made me laugh. I will see him again.

This is the poem I will always think of when I think of Patrick. It has been the same with everyone I have loved and lost.  I am not resigned.

Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned

No comments:

Post a Comment