Posted on Sep 10, 2014 | 3 comments

When I was younger,
I thought that sex
was as intimate
as one person could be
with another

Then, my mother died,
right in front of me,
fighting Altzheimer’s
until her last breath.

I was selected
from among the siblings
to sit with her
until they came to first
harvest her corneas then,
take her body away.

Not long afterwards
I placed my hand
on my father’s brow,
and felt his warmth
slowly fading away,
as he let go of a conflicted life.

This was perhaps the first time
I touched him in that way.

Before my dog of many years
died in my arms,
his breathing first turned into the “death rattle”
that I first heard from my father,
a sound that haunts me to this day.

With age I have come to learn
that sex is not the most intimate thing
that people can share.
There is nothing more intimate
than sharing one’s death.

As I hurtle with increasing speed
towards my sixth decade, these
and many other similar experiences
have stirred things deep within me.

Thus, I have embarked upon this journey
through some very  “Grave Matters.”

This journey is just beginning.
Please join me …
one page at a time.


* *Your candid comments are always welcome and encouraged. Please scroll down to do so.


No Closer Intimacy” is part of

an ongoing series of books, being created “one page at a time.”

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  1. Such powerful words that carry a deep meaning; and it brings to mind that the last step for us is often to mourn the loss of our loved ones in person at the cemetery.

    Thank you for sharing your experiences with your readers which our profound.

    And, extending also an invitation to join “Preserving Ohio’s Cemeteries” a closed Facebook Group that focuses on cemetery preservation and gravestone conservation so the gravesites and gravestones of our loved ones will be saved for future generations. Thank you.

  2. I have always said the two greatest experiences in my life were watching my grandson being born and my mom die. I am never quite sure which is more beautiful, life or death. They are so close in nature, it is hard to distinguish which is the greatest gift, being the teacher or the student.

  3. I’m reminded of the man lying in his hospital bed with his wife at his side. He lists all the tragic and traumatic events of his life with her. Instead of heart felt thanks he tells her he thinks she is bad luck.

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