The Last Poem

The Last Poem

It started out as a sad tale regarding a severe phobia of death, and ended up being about a poem that saved me.

Sometimes while I lie in bed at night gazing up to where I know there is a ceiling, but being able to see nothing but darkness with the lights turned off, I think about death. The very thought sends shudders up my spine and an overwhelming sensation of fear grips me. I lie there like a log wondering what happens to us when we die. All kinds of peculiar questions arise in my mind such as ‘do we undergo a transition from being living, breathing human beings to becoming mere souls floating about without purpose in space?’ or ‘do we become pure energy and unite with the Universe?’ I ponder over whether heaven and hell exist as we have stereotypically imagined tem to be and mind you, do we actually get to meet God after hearing about him for so long? What in God’s name [excuse the pun] will I say to the big ‘G’? Will I tell him I’m sorry for being a naughty child or will I ask for forgiveness for stealing my friend’s rather nice looking pen when I was in eighth grade? I think I should just shut up and let him do all the talking.

You must be wondering by now where this article is leading and why I feel its ‘My Story’. Well, let me take you back to December 7th, 1998 when my father passed away suddenly, and things might get a little clearer. It was the saddest, most horrific day of my life as my father meant the world to me, my mother and my sister. He was the pillar of strength on which we all rested and relied. Unfortunately, he had been admitted in the hospital in Uzbekistan the night before, after undergoing his second heart attack in eight months. The doctors managed to stabilize him but decided to keep him overnight, under observation in the hospital. My sister, mother and I therefore made our way home for the night, expecting to see him the next morning. However something just wasn’t right, as I had a sudden feeling of depression as I walked out of the hospital door. I lay in bed and drifted off to sleep with an uncomfortable feeling deep inside. I suddenly found myself snapped out of sleep by a dreadful feeling and I sprung off the bed unable to understand what was happening. I instinctively turned my head towards the window sill where I found myself gazing straight at my father’s smiling picture and right next to it I vaguely remember seeing the clock strike 5 a.m. Rather confused and shook up, I made my way back to the bed and fell asleep eventually. The next morning we found out that my father had died at 5 a.m. from a third heart attack and I believe my waking up at that precise moment was not a coincidence.

My father’s demise managed to develop in me a phobia about death which became unshakable. I lay in bed day in and day out the way I have described above, driving myself to the point of insanity. Death and its mystery became my obsession. They say time heals all wounds and although it did to some extent decrease my pain, it could not convince my mind to stop its fixation on our ultimate end as human beings. However, the most extraordinary thing happened a few years after my father’s death which eased my mind a great deal. We unexpectedly found a poem that he had written in the hospital right before he died. In it he described the angels in white that were coming to take him away to a wonderful place of peace. The poem had not been titled and I named it ‘The Last Poem’.

After uncovering that poem, all I know now is that this thing called death is inevitable and I have got to face up to it. I know for sure that even though my father has physically left this world, he lives spiritually, continuing to discipline me. The part that had really gotten to me the most when my father died, was the actual time of death; the slipping away from reality, entering an unknown, unseen realm, in a totally new form of oneself. I had envisioned it to be scary, but I now believe it will be a completely comfortable and pleasant sensation. It could end up being the best feeling in the world as my father described it to be in his last poem.

I do believe in God and I have faith in my religion, but it is a very natural feeling for us humans to be afraid of the unknown. To me life is just a temporary phase of a bigger scenario. It is a precious gift given to us which we must cherish, for it will never be given to us again. I don’t know if time ever stops or just goes on forever, but I do believe that after death, the place where we all go to, will have no concept of time. So “forever” is what we’ll be in our new state of being. My father had meant for me to find his last poem and I look forward to seeing him again, on the other side.

By: Fariha Rashed