“And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Dylan Thomas, Do not go gentle into that good night
And of all the gifts my father gave me, the final one was to let me be there to hold his hand. And he waited for a moment when I held no rage. Only love. Thanks Dad.
PS You can listen to Dylan Thomas (I’m pretty sure it’s him) read the poem here. It’s gorgeous.