POEM:THIS IS THE CONCLUDING poem in a sequence, The Venice Suite, that no poet would wish to write. Its memories are unique to me, yet its voyage of loss is undertaken by thousands, sometimes with huge support, like I was privileged to receive, but often in isolation.
In 2010, my wife, Bernie, collapsed while swimming with one of our sons. She had no symptoms of ill health and no thoughts of death before death cruelly thought of her. I was beside her when she died from an undiagnosed ruptured aneurysm on a trolley in the Mater hospital in Dublin, still awaiting the doctor assigned to her.