Ablaze… With no Remorse

A poignant and soulful prose poem, by Christine, in memory of her mother who succumbed to pancreatic cancer in her arms. An exclusive for Different Truths.

Update: We received a message from Christine’s husband that she, our poet friend, too passed away peacefully, this morning, with ‘ a smile on her lips’. Christine battled with Cancer and till the very end was active penning poems. This is her last poem on Different Truths. Join us in praying for the departed soul. Be happy with your mother. Christine, you will be missed by all of us here. ~ Editor-in-Chief

“Next, I suppose, you’re going to tell me what colour the flowers from the family on your coffin should be…?” 

“Well actually… you know, I really love the Peace Rose, and the Cecil Brunner rosebud shades, and apricot-hued pink …”

“Oh, Really Mum! Think I’ll order the brightest reds and purples, with maybe splashes of hot orange!?!” 

Should have seen her face! If a blush could come on command, or even happen in hues beyond imagination, my dearest Mum’s couldn’t have helped but happen.  If ‘mortified’ and ‘horrified’ wore colours, that’s what her face would have read (or shouted, raucously, in fact).

Dear old Mum. She knew her end was in sight – not imminent, but not too distant, either. We had shared so much in our lives from the day I was born… So, many thought I was an oversight – a mistake, for sure. Instead, that perfect lady once confessed to me in a hushed voice (glancing back over her shoulder, as if in fear someone would overhear), “You were no mistake, my darling, we did it twice, to be sure!” Blessedly, for both herself and her loving family, the end was not too far away, and she was kept most comfortable with increasing pain well controlled after a final diagnosis of pancreatic cancer was confirmed. I had the honour of holding her lovingly in my arms when that last hour came. 


When it was time for the ordering of those flowers for her coffin, I found a smile creeping its way through the teas, as I remembered this conversation. It had poetic poignancy now, as the germ of an idea burrowed through my thoughts, on the heels of that errant smile. delicately handmade lace collar, softly curled hair, gentle (almost non-existent) make-up, and especially soft pink lipstick, were strictly as ordered. The large family flower arrangement in softest pinks, creams, and apricot hues. The music was gentle, softly soothing the many grieving hearts farewelling her. I had done her proud – until the moment the mourners filed by to take a flower from the proffered basket to add their personal condolences together with those of the family of their dear friend. And suddenly, that final symbol of death and dying was transformed into another symbol altogether, a symbol of hope, and renewal, the glory of Life and Love everlasting. What else could depict all this better than dozens of glorious daffodils, sharing their wondrous smiles, as the music bloomed out Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘Like a Bridge over Troubled Water’. There was no disagreement as to those choices…she had been all of that and so much more to so many (her loving care as a volunteer with the Spina Bifida children had been rewarded with the humbling Order of Australia medal). Nothing but the glory of those Daffodils could speak our love so positively and so absolutely.

I did do you proud, Dearest Mum…

Picture design by Anumita Roy, Different Truths