Anger and a Song

I have never blogged before, and started this by mistake, but I will try and see if it is cathartic. My wife is now taking anti-anxiety meds, since she was having trouble breathing and the hospice nurse recommended it. I don't know whether it is connected, since the time was coming anyway, but as she started taking the meds she lost ability to support her weight on her legs. She had long lost the ability to move her limbs, but it was easy enough for me to dress her, deal with her on the toilet, and make transfers by simply standing her up,supporting her with one hand, and doing whatever was necessary with the other. Not possible now, since her legs buckle. And so the decline continues.

This reminds me of a song I learned as a small child, from my father or my older brother. I am guessing it is an Irish folk tune, since the memory in my mind carries the hint of a faint fake-Irish accent. I used to like it because it seemed naughty and transgressive, but now in my mind it is an appropriate shriek of anger and pain. I now think of it sung using a voice like Joe Strummer in the first Clash album (think Career Opportunities or I'm So Bored with the USA), though this song must be sung more slowly. Perhaps you know it, but I definitely feel it now.

Look at the coffin
With its silver handles
Isn't it grand, boys
To be bloody well dead.
So lets not have a sniffle,
Lets have a bloody great cry
And always remember the longer you live, the sooner you bloody will die.

The other verses I know are the same, with only the first two lines changed

Look at the mourners,
Bloody great hypocrites,
Isn't it grand, boys ...

Look at the preacher,
Bloody sanctimonious,
Isn't it grand, boys ...

Good luck to all, and grab as much of life as you can when you and your loved ones are healthy and can enjoy it!

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