When Rita Smiles . . .

How happy I was this morning when I entered the hospital room and saw Mom smile!  She actually seemed somewhat cheerful!  It seems as if her personality is normalizing as her health gets better.  She sat up for both breakfast and lunch today, feeding herself well and eating better than I've seen so far.  That's not to say, though, that she is happy about this enfeebled state she's in.  

Mom has always been so engaged with people and her surroundings.  She seems unwilling to become old, a senior whose feeble physical condition and waning senses force her into observing more than participating in life's activities.  

I suppose I should celebrate Mom's rebelliousness against the inevitability of aging.  Dylan Thomas wrote his magnificent poem "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" at his father's deathbed, begging him to do something other than sink peacefully into the eternal sleep.   He would be glad if he could see my mom.  

  

Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

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.