I met Margie in Denver a few years ago when I was invited to her book club meeting to discuss my book, Kapoho: Memoir of a Modern Pompeii. At that meeting, I signed my book Dangerous Woman: Poetry for the Ageless, to Margie: a fearless and dangerous woman, I inscribed. Like many books I’ve signed, that autograph often becomes the only connection of that moment and thereafter.
Today, I received a call from Jill, who had hosted that Denver meeting. Margie is dying and on Sunday, she will take her final cocktail with her family nearby. Last week Margie hosted a Celebration of her Life party for friends and family. Jill made her final visit today and Margie told her how she wished she could speak to me once more; that she had always loved being called fearless and dangerous. She, I was told, lived without any organized religion.
I called her, not knowing what to say but leave it to humor, it saw us through.I told her I had called to help celebrate the life of a fearless and dangerous woman and she laughed in her very strong voice. I asked her a favor, that wherever she is going, will she save a place for me, not any old place, but a place with a recliner with a mink stole. She laughed and said this she can do. We ended our call with our love and she said, “I’ll see you later.” I ended our call with “I’ll see you later.”
I hope I can do it with humor when it’s my time.
Afterthought: Now why didn’t I read her a poem?
What a sweet, wonderful way to say goodbye, Frances. I’m in tears of happiness you were able to do so.
Barbara, it worked out so perfectly, her strong voice gave me the confidence I needed and I felt I could go with humor.She was quite a woman, wasn’t she?
Yes she was … and so are you.
I loved that you could talk and laugh with Margie before she went ahead of us. What poem would you read to her?
Alice, maybe the following poem by Rossetti. And one of my poems from Dangerous Women on page 109 titled Death, Be Gentle. I had written this poem thinking of one choosing his/her own time of death.
Song [When I am dead, my dearest]
by Christina Rossetti – 1830-1894
When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.