Several years ago, perhaps around the time my father was close to his death, I wrote a poem. It is not very good, but I thought I would share it as it addresses the passing of those who have gone before us and recognizes that we, too, are taking the same journey.
Generations move on through time, a train of humanity
Dropping off its passengers, picking up new ones
The Old Ones, experienced and wise, leave behind their tales to be absorbed like
Clouds of cosmic dust by those who pass through them with open minds.
We cannot keep the essence of their souls with us as they sift through our fingers,
Instead we hold fast to our memories of them, sharing their tales with others
Until we, too, become the Old Ones as our station draws near
And those left behind watch us leave, grasping at their memories of us
As the journey continues.
Ruth Ann Shuler