We talk about our death way before it's necessary.
Once when we are newly wed, he whispers
I want to go first--I must never live without you.
I feel shame; I do not want to go first.
Do not want to go at all, not ever.
So I take his hand in mine and joke:
Ok but leave the light on for me!
Even a jest makes me shiver.
I am overcome by this man but not
because he cannot live without me.
I am overcome because he can bear his death.
Later when he is sick and looking down
into the grave, he only cries once and it is brief.
After that he is ready.
He is calm, waiting to be taken.
Waiting as if for an airport limo.
