How Did You Die?

by Edmund Vance Cooke

▼
 Full Text

Did you tackle that trouble that came your way

With a resolute heart and cheerful?
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven soul and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it,
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it?

You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that!

Come up with a smiling face.
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there—that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce
Be proud of your blackened eye!
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts;
It's how did you fight and why?

And though you be done to the death, what then?

If you battled the best you could,
If you played your part in the world of men,
Why, the Critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?

I died, not just once but several times, in different ways with varying degrees of intensity. However, death does not
always equate to ceasing to exist; it is not only that a body turns whiter and feels more like it is made of plastic than
flesh, that the heart beats slowly, or that the brain receives little to no oxygen at all, rather in my story, it represents
those moments I erred and stumbled, when life was lived as if I were dead and nothing made sense.

But after reading Cooke’s “HOW DID YOU DIE”, I somewhat appreciate the world underneath where I bequeathed
myself with agony and dreads. His words allowed me to appreciate death, to accept that fact that I died but I was
neither weak nor craven, I just stopped fighting, but still true, I fought hard. This poem lured my wholesome to believe in
myself and be reminded that I cannot win all of my fights; sometimes I have to shorten my steps and prepare my mind
for my future battles.

Moreover, I have two favorites out of all the lines in this poem. First of which is “The harder you're thrown, why the
higher you bounce”. This is not only accurate but also applicable to my situation. Maybe, I had fallen miles down my life
before, but Newton's third law has been proven true since I am still here, from below I am now reaching up high,
straining for the stars, and hoping not to fall again. I have this urge to mention the last phrases that most significantly
affected the entirety of my being; “And whether he's slow or spry, it isn't the fact that you're dead that counts, but only,
how did you die?”. As I mentioned in the opening of my narrative, I died, but in the most significant sense, I did so WITH
A FIGHT.