It’s a shame when anyone dies.  — from an Internet forum post

You say it’s a shame when anyone dies
though it’s one of the few things
you can count on everyone doing
so I guess you’re saying
we’re all supposed to be ashamed
of people being human
and exiting this state of grace
called living

Some get to it faster than others
through no effort of their own
I suppose that’s a shame
in some way
though I suspect we’re upset
at them leaving us behind
to await our own ends

I never saw it this way
Think it’s a shame to cause another’s death
Think that some shame adheres to the killer
Even if it’s justified in self-defense
It’s still a shame that it had to happen
that someone will have to walk around knowing
they were responsible for it
even if there was no alternative

But when an old person dies of the body’s decay
that’s just what is supposed to happen
A young person dies from an illness or accident
and that’s supposed to happen
An infant dies in sleep without warning
and that’s supposed to happen
so I don’t know what the shame is
in dying at the appointed time
We don’t get to pick those appointed times
We don’t get to choose who lives or dies
just to keep ourselves whole and happy
It’s not an option not to die
no matter how good or worthy you are
of the honor of living
no matter how much good you did
or what you created for the astonishment of the living
you will go as we all will go

And when it comes to the suicides
who long to bring the inevitable forward
speed things up with the sudden jolt of the rope
or the trigger
or do it more gradually with a smoke or a drink
a needle or a truckload of burgers
you can’t say much to dissuade them at the end
They’re hurtling and hurting
telling themselves minute by minute
“let’s just get this over with”
and there may be pain left behind them
but no shame in losing that urge to self-preserve
so anger at their choices isn’t worthy
of those who choose to hold themselves here
as long as possible

What is a shame
but a regret intensified
to the point of obsession
If there’s one regret worth obsessing over
it’s not that death itself occurs
It’s that death can’t be traded
among the living according to their desire for it

I know people who are closing in on that end
who fight to hang in for the last nailhold of life
and others who would go now if something didn’t hold them back
by their own nails
and it’s not a love of life that keeps them here
but a fear that they’ll be shamed in the early departure
that they’ll crush the left behind with sadness

If I had my way
we could take the shame from their brows
give their extraneous life to the ones
who long for more
It’s a shame we can’t do that
call out

“living, here’s one worthy of you
keep this one
and let this other one go
without any sense of regret”

the balance would be thus maintained

The only shame I see in this
is that you could call me
tomorrow
and I’ll likely still be here
when the phone will ring a long time
at the home of someone
who desperately wanted to answer

Dear young person:

Well, you’re dead,
and I’m sorry
we never got a chance to talk,
though you probably
wouldn’t have cared
to speak to me, and I’m sorry
about that too. 

People seem to love you,
still,
even though you’re dead. 
Did they tell you that when you were alive?
They all say they didn’t,
or they didn’t say it enough.
I’m sorry for that,
sorrier still
if you didn’t hear it enough
and can’t hear it now. 
I suspect you can’t.

But if I think you can’t hear it,
I ask myself,
why then am I writing to you? 
Perhaps
because you’re easier to speak to
now that you’re dead. 

Perhaps because
I’ve been there:
alone and listening in vain
for the voices that say,
“I love you…” in life,

certain I will miss them in death.

I wish there were more to say
but I can’t be sure you can hear me
and I’m tired of listening to myself
attempting to convince myself

that this has a point:

so enough for now.

But if you can hear me,
if you’re hearing
“I love you” as much as you need
now that you’re

there
where we don’t know what is needed,

I wish you’d let me know.