Poetry: It's My Life

She’d had a busy life with independence being key

Made her own decisions lived her lifetime proud and free

Time ticked by, old age arrived, her health was getting rough

She began to feel she’d reached the point where she’d had enough.

A stroke took her mobility, imprisoned her in bed

Living just seemed pointless, she might as well be dead

She made a plan to end it all and leave the pain behind

She’d overdose her medicine, no doubt was in her mind

She’d put her affairs in order, her intention was quite clear

Struggled to write a farewell note for those near and dear

She was ready for her exit she only felt relief

She hoped for sweet release from all the torment and the grief.

She didn’t want to die alone, there was no other choice

People like her denied their rights by those with louder voice

She had no god to answer to, she had no fear of death

Her fear was of the suffering before her final breath.

She chose a day to leave the world with everything explained

She took the meds and closed her eyes, nobody could be blamed

Content that it was over, she hoped the end was certain,

But someone came to visit and foiled her final curtain.

She felt a jolt her eyes flew open blinking in the light

Her mind had clouded over, she’d forgotten her sad plight

Then she howled with abject terror that they’d dragged her back to life

And begged to be set free from all the agony and strife

We abide by ‘do no harm’, we can’t help you out you see.’

She thought, ‘Forcing me to live means you ARE harming me.’

They keep her well sedated but every time she wakes

She feels the horror once again and her poor heart breaks.

She cannot swallow so a tube is how they make her eat

She has no means to fight it so has to admit defeat

Skeletal body, gaping mouth an adult nappy on

Lying motionless and helpless, all dignity is gone

They said she’d go to a care home where she’d be supervised

She could not try this route again and take them by surprise

They hooked her up to this and that and she began to cry

Sentenced to months of torture, she wished they’d let her die.

Her life savings are forfeited to house her useless shell

This is truly her worst nightmare, a ghastly living hell

Just existing is not her choice, it’s cruel to make her stay

When she wished to say her farewells and gently slip away.

Name and address supplied

This poem first appeared in the Manx Independent on July 6.

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