Today is Slice of Life Tuesday, and we’re writing to a prompt shared by Jenna Komarin: “The only thing that makes life possible is permanent, intolerable uncertainty; not knowing what comes next.” — Ursula K. Le Guin
That quote aptly describes the past six weeks, from the time my father took a steep nosedive the last week of May after finishing chemotherapy treatments and died of complications from Pulmonary Fibrosis on Friday, June 13. Even though there was a known certainty in the dense fog of uncertainty, the glimmer of hope in the uncertainty is what kept us all going.
Throughout the month of July, I’ll be using Dad’s stories I captured in the final weeks of his life to share poems about things that were on his mind – and I’m using the actual words from recorded audio, preserving the wording the way he spun it. I’m grateful to my friend Janette Bradley for sharing the idea to record these conversations to play again whenever I need to hear his voice.
When my brother Ken and I were there with Dad as he was rapidly deteriorating, we asked him to tell stories of family and his younger days to pass the time and keep his (and our) mind off the endless waiting and dreadful reality as things kept taking turn after turn like some sputtering single-plane engine spinning wildly out of control before the crash. It took some effort through broken breaths and the din of the oxygen machine that reminded me so much of a noisy generator, but he managed to share priceless treasures full of nuggets of wisdom from a life well lived with rich descriptions of family and friends from long ago.
In one story, he spoke an unintended haiku about his mother out of thin air. He told us, “Your grandmother said, ‘we dig our graves with our teeth,’ and she was not wrong.” I counted the syllables and captured the wisdom that he was sharing with his children ~ wisdom that his grandchildren and great grandchildren will appreciate in the coming years as they continue to remember Dad. Even when – – no, especially when – – life feels so uncertain.
Media Clip: Dad Telling About His Mother’s Sayings
Dad’s Thin Air Haiku
your grandmother said
we dig our graves with our teeth
and she was not wrong
Note: My grandmother’s quote is attributed to Thomas Moffett, a physician from the 1600s, and later to Thomas Edison, who often gets credited as the originator.
Common Threads 
I’m so sorry to hear about your dad, Kim, and what a treasure trove of stories you have to preserve his life. And a haiku with significant meaning…I wonder if Grandma may have been a writer?
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Debbie, Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m not sure about my grandmother, but Dad always enjoyed writing right up to the very last day of his life. It was heartbreaking to see the handwriting slump, but encouraging as well that he never lost his passion.
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Kim, I am so sorry to hear of your father’s passing. I will keep you and your family in my prayers. Clearly, writing is helping you process this time. Wow! That haiku!! I love it. I also like the metaphor oyu crafted in this line: like some sputtering single-plane engine spinning wildly out of control before the crash. You create a image for that time and feeling that can’t be seen. Continue to listen and write. Thanks for sharing.
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Thank you so much, Sally, for your kind words and for the prayers. You always say the nicest things, and I appreciate your response more than you know!
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I’m sorry to read about the passing of your dad. There is beauty in sharing stories in these final moments together. Sending you love and strength. ❤️
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Thank you so much, Jessica! I feel the love!
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Kim, I really appreciate and enjoy these stories of your dad and am amazed at your strength to capture so many memories, My own dad passed 10 years ago this month after many, many years of sickness and suffering and I guess my energy was so spent in caregiving for him and for my grieving mom, I did not capture the many thoughts I memories I should have put on paper. I am trying to allow myself to do some of that now, spurred in part by your writing and my own need to capture what I can still remember!
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Anita, I lost my mom 10 years ago this December, and I understand the grief that lingers. Even though it has been 10 years, parts of it still feel so raw. It can be so hard writing through the grief, but writing is what saved me – – that’s about the time I joined the poetry group at ethicalela, and it was just the medicine my heart needed at the time. I stand in spirit and in solidarity with you as you open the memory box and weave the stories that need to be told. I can’t wait to read what you share, friend!
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Kim, I’m so sorry to hear about your father’s death. I wish so much that I had thought to record my father’s stories as he was dying. Writing about them now is such a beautiful, meaningful way to share your father’s life and find comfort in your memories. I’ll be thinking of you and your family and will look forward to getting to know your father this month through your words.
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Thank you, Molly! I had so much audio from those days of endless waiting that I figured if I do the writing now, it will not only preserve the stories but will also help me as I grieve. There are so many emotions bundled up inside – the heartache, the sadness, the anger and regrets, the pain of some burning memories that I’d like to just forget, and the joy that he is once again with the love of his life. I always appreciate your comments!
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Love that your dad is still with you in stories and your grandmother’s borrowed wisdom. It’s remarkable how much your dad shared with you, especially in those final days. My dad died in March and I had had little contact with him in his last four years. I’m glad Felix was with you to comfort and guide you right through to his passing. Wonderful story and haiku, Kim.
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Thank you, Joanne! I appreciate your encouragement and positive thoughts, and I understand the distance in those waning years. There was some of that with my dad, too – – and that is part of the regret in the grieving I’ll be doing. It’s never easy because there is such a human factor in living and in dying, and it simply won’t be perfect until we all get to heaven.
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Kim, thank-you for this slice. I look forward to more. I am struck by the parallels. My father passed from prostate cancer in a scant 7 mos. He defied a very optimistic prognosis. I’m not saying its’ the same by any means, but your post really struck a chord with me. How smart you were to record time with him and also write about it. It’s very cathartic. I’m sorry for your loss.
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Oh, we do have quite a few parallels here. My dad was enduring several comorbidities, and prostate cancer was among his conditions. While all eyes were treating his colorectal cancer and the chemo that zapped the life out of him, his pulmonary fibrosis reared its ugly head and called checkmate. I do enjoy reliving the stories and revisiting the audio recorded voice – even though it progressively becomes weaker and weaker throughout the time, it captures the essence of a man who never lost his passion for life, even in the bleakest moments. I appreciate your kind words and feel blessed that you shared about your dad with me.
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Kim,
What a great slice that honors your dad. Being able to listen to his words is such a help for the grieving process as you don’t have to focus on capturing his words. Prayers for your family.
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Fran, thank you! And that is so true – the audio truly helped capture the stories, and with his permission, I’ll share them throughout the month as I remember and grieve our loss. Thank you for the prayers. I am feeling them!
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Mim,
I know your family will cherish the poems, stories, and memories you’re sharing here. I suspect in the future your grandchildren will write into their own memories of their great grandfather. Your post has me thinking about some of mine. This morning I read a Diane Seuss poem about the death of her father and the complicated emotions she experienced when he died when she was a child. There’s an image of teeth at the end: “I don’t want to see, dream. / The lid so damp it crumbled under my hands. / The casket just a drawerful of bones. / A drawerful. Just bones and teeth. / That one tooth he had. Crooked like mine.” I know your faith will resonate with those lines and the complicated history of family relationships, and the stories and memories we share through our teeth. Sending you lots of love and thanks for sharing and trusting us w/ your grief and memories.
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Glenda, I was reading Diane’s poem Nature, Which Cannot Be Driven To in Ada Limon’s You Are Here: Poetry in the Natural World – – and now I have a new one to love, thanks to you. She is a gifted poet, and what a heavy memory she shares in her poem you quoted. That is traumatic, and scary for a child. I appreciate your kind words and always sharing the best healing poems. I printed out the ones you shared with me by email and read them as we drove to the funeral. You knew just what I needed. You always do.
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Kim, one of the things I miss the most is the unanswered questions I wish I had asked my loved ones. I’m so glad you had been given such sage advice to record his words. I look forward to reading your wonderful poetry and more about your father. Hugs!
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Barb, thank you so much! I’m looking forward to our time together this month if we are having our Zoom gathering this week. Each step of normalcy and routine that returns is such a a welcome step in the right direction. Thank you for your kind words. You always know just what to say. I know you understand, too. That is something that brings me both joy and sadness, and it is the most powerful reminder of how much we all need each other.
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I’m so sorry for the loss of your dad. What a good idea to have recorded his stories. Hopefully the sound of his voice will bring you some comfort. I wish I had done that with both of my parents- there are questions I have that will never be answered. Thank you for sharing today.
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Linda, thank you so much! That time of togetherness was gratifying and still had its moments because of some of the healing that needed to happen. Imminent death puts life in perspective in a way that nothing else does, and we are grateful that we took advantage of that time we had. I always appreciate your kind words and look forward to your posts – – as fellow campers/adventurers, I always look forward to seeing where you are and what you are up to!
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The week before my father’s stroke, we received his Storyworth book that I had worked on with him for a year. He was resistant to sharing his stories, but I’m glad I pushed him to do it. These stories are a gift. I regret that we will not have anything like it from my mother as she has gradually lost her stories. Thanks for sharing your journey through grief, a gift to all who read it.
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Margaret, what a treasure the Storyworth will be. It sounds like our experiences are somewhat similar – – my mother lost her mind and kept a strong physical body right to the end, and Dad kept his sharp cognitive focus and full mind as his body failed him. I’ve decided that if Heaven ever offers me a choice, I’m going with the loss of my mind so that I don’t have to realize all the sadness of letting go. The stories are the best gift, and I know your book will help you with the grief even as you anticipate the loss of your mother in the days ahead. I’m praying for you – for strength, for peace, for deep healing through your loss. Hugs.
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Kim, I want to send you my sincere condolences on the passing of your father. Recording your father’s conversations is an excellent idea that will bring fond memories throughout the years.
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Thank you, Carol! You are so kind to reach out. I appreciate your thoughtfulness!
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I have been writing for several months since my husband’s passing to help me navigate my reality. Today, I write an envelope poem.
https://beyondliteracylink.blogspot.com/2025/07/why-write-about-navigating-reality.html
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Kim, I’m so sorry to hear of your dad’s passing. My mom died last summer, and the grief feels both fresh and alien at the same time. Funny how that works…
And I love the way his wisdom slides so perfectly into haiku form – almost as if it were waiting to be discovered as poetry – which, if I’m honest, all of this is: the gathering of your family nearby, the chance to speak and bond bedside, to feel shared love and experience.
Thanks for sharing that audio clip. I had to smile when you told your dad what he said was a haiku, and he went right in to recommending you seek out the wisdom of Satchel Paige.
Thank you…for all of this. ❤
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