When they come for

me, whether they are

angels, hunters with

crossbows and hounds,

cherubs in plastic armour from

Honest Ed’s, or the guys

from Scott’s College

Movers – when they come,

for they will, inevitably, one day

arrive, they will cart my cold

dead corpse away and say

he is gone forever and will

not be back.  If they say I made

some bad decisions, if they say I

could have done more to let my

loved ones know how deeply they

were loved, it is true, for

one can always do

more and it is never

enough.  If they say

I had my doubts about this

life and sometimes thought

I wanted it to end and even

contemplated ways to blow

out the pilot light myself, that

too is true and I wouldn’t

deny it.  But if they say I

failed to see the beauty, if

they say I did not embrace

the full range of pain and

ecstasy that my life with you

has been, if they say I didn’t

adore the way you smashed a

glass in anger and the shards

appeared for weeks afterward

like tiny crystals of passion

in the most unlikely corners of

the kitchen, and that I did not

honour the way you took me

gracefully into the gift of your

body, and that I did not

treasure the forgiveness you

granted me for all my human

failings, if they try

to say I did not love you, if

they try to say I did not

live to love you, don’t

believe them,

don’t believe them.