Going gently into the good night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas

My Grandfather died in his sleep, in Glenfield Hospital, last night. He would have been 82 in July. He worked “down pit” back when they still used ponies to pull the carts. He survived a World War and two major heart operations. He had a strange sense of humour. He loved gardening, and every Summer would bombard all and sundry with his excess fruit and vegetables. He and my Grandmother celebrated their 66th wedding anniversary a few months ago.

Dylan Thomas’ poem is an achingly accurate portrait of a younger generation imploring thier loved ones to keep fighting, to rage and rally against death. It’s beautiful, profound and moving.

Grandad fought for his life numerous times in the last 30 years. He endured terrible pain and many blows to his pride.

After fighting for so long, he deserved to go gently into the good night, and I’m grateful for it.