This song happens to be my theme just now, when those around me at work and daily events (usually involving gossip, unfaithfulness, murder, and inhumanity) keep getting me down, making me wonder why I do it all...why I do anything. The more exact and philosophical reason for this I have not fully formulated as of yet, so I'll leave that for another post. The song is by Skillet, a rock band, and is one of theirs called Awake and Alive.
I'm at war with the world
And they try to pull me into the dark
I struggle to find my faith
As I'm slipping from your arms
It's getting harder to stay awake
And my strength is fading fast
You breathe into me at last
I'm awake, I'm alive
Now I know what I believe inside
Now it's my time
I'll do what I want 'cause this is my life
Right here, right now
Stand my ground and never back down
I know what I believe inside
I'm awake, and I'm alive
I'm at war with the world
'Cause I ain't never gonna sell my soul
I've already made up my mind
No matter what, I can't be bought or sold
When my faith is getting weak
And I feel like giving in
You breathe into me again
I'm awake, I'm alive
Now I know what I believe inside
Now it's my time
I'll do what I want 'cause this is my life
I can feel you in my sleep
In your arms, I feel you breathe into me
Forever hold this heart that I will give to you
Forever I will live for you
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A simple death
What prompted me to quote John Donne's sonnet was the death of a child at the hospital last week...a child with severe physical and mental handicaps and a very contorted body. She was in her late teens and had a Do Not Resucitate order on her chart, which basically means that if her heart stops or she stops breathing, we are to do nothing for her but to let her go.
Yes, this was probably a good idea since she was so very sick and had been all her life. I walked into the room from doing something and offered to help, but was told by the other nurse that she was gone.
Gone.
simple little phrase but true nonetheless. Sure, the body is there but she, her essence and soul is not. I held her hand a moment, and looked over her contorted, misshapen little body and wondered about all the sufferings she had experienced, if she had ever had much comfort. Happily, she couldn't have suffered much before she died...and it was nice to see her so peaceful. She passed...and we are finished.
Usually when such a thing happens we are in full gear, administering meds, doing cpr, putting tubes down throats, and attempting to force the body to awaken again. After about 15 minutes of this with no response, we usually discontinue our efforts. This time, nothing happened. I felt weird, like I should be doing something to help her, but she didn't really need our help.
Goodnight, little rose. Thou art now in the garden of paradise.
Yes, this was probably a good idea since she was so very sick and had been all her life. I walked into the room from doing something and offered to help, but was told by the other nurse that she was gone.
Gone.
simple little phrase but true nonetheless. Sure, the body is there but she, her essence and soul is not. I held her hand a moment, and looked over her contorted, misshapen little body and wondered about all the sufferings she had experienced, if she had ever had much comfort. Happily, she couldn't have suffered much before she died...and it was nice to see her so peaceful. She passed...and we are finished.
Usually when such a thing happens we are in full gear, administering meds, doing cpr, putting tubes down throats, and attempting to force the body to awaken again. After about 15 minutes of this with no response, we usually discontinue our efforts. This time, nothing happened. I felt weird, like I should be doing something to help her, but she didn't really need our help.
Goodnight, little rose. Thou art now in the garden of paradise.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Death be not Proud
DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, 5
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, 10
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
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