Death has no sting

It is not the death,
it's the process of dying
which is so damn sad.

The inner clock

When he'd kissed her goodbye the old woman had smiled:
"Enjoy sleeping through, life-whisperer."

Leaving the hospital,
approaching his car
reflecting the past he was.
This was going to be the first night since October
there would no phone ring
at almost exactly 3:00 a.m.
He would sleep through.

He did not see his inner clock smiling.

For your imagination

After two and a half years ... there could be told some more episodes about the lady and her life whisperer. Alone, these are no days for writing.
These are days for preparing favourite meals; days and nights for trying to anticipate the very next wish [ the German idiom – 'to read all wishes from her eyes – sounds much nicer, would you agree?]; days and nights to speak about past 88 years, about present, death, dreams and future; days and nights to clean and caress, to hurry and hush; days and nights to enjoy a whispered thank you, an "oh, that was delicious"; days and nights for love and laughter,  for sparkling eyes and smiling silence ... dum spiro spero.

The peace of the night.

Night and Dreams

Having helped her to sit up on the edge of the bed, he says while kneeling in front of her and putting on her slippers:
- You look like I was again causing you nightmares.
No response. No smile. No eye sparkling.
- Did I again offer you tea all night until you were fed up with me?
- ...
- Hm, do you think you are ready to fly into my arms?
- Yes.
- Alright then. ... Ready?
- Yes.
- You know that you will never ever fall when the strongest of all sons-in-law's with you?
- Yes.
- Good. So let's do it, Mylady. One ... two ... three! Done.
A little scream. Her head leaning against his left shoulder; he feels her shivering.
- Did it hurt?
- No.
- You say when you are ready for the marathon?
- I am ready.
- Good. So give me your hands, Mylady.
Slowly, step by step, they cover the three metres to the bedroom door, its threshold.
- And now we are climbing Mt. Everest. ... Good.

Minutes later. The old woman sitting on the toilet, he sitting on the rim of the bath tub.
- Don't you feel well?
- No.
- Any pain?
- No.
- So, w...
- I'll tell you when I've the teeth in my mouth.
- So be it.
He smiles. Their eyes meet. She does not smile.

Half an hour later, having another marathon behind her, with climbing Nanga Parbat and Popocatepetl, surviving a breakfast containing of three tiny bits of bread - one with egg and fleurs de sel, one with walnut cheese, one with chaumes -, a cup of tea and three pills, she says:
- It was so horrible! Wearing white runners, on arriving with my bicycle at the grocer's suddenly there was a sandheap. I fell. While getting up, fortunately Mickey appeared. Mickey, I said, could you please pick up my bike? He did, and I asked him: Mickey, would you now, please, be so kind and slap me? - But, why should I slap you, Eireen? he asked. Oh Mickey, I said, Diarmuid's told me by no means to get up without him. I could call him at any time of the day and the night, and now I am here. He will ... In the next moment I awoke ... ah ... and so relieved I felt to be in my bed. Still, I was shivering with horror.
- White runners? Did you ever wear white runners?
- No.
- Did you really ask Mickey to slap you?
- Yes.
And he laughed and laughed and ... both they laughed.