Eventually, Death Visits Us All - Chapter Introduction:

Inevitably, death is a foe we all have to face. The irony is coming to terms with it is vital to living a full and happy life. Though we can grieve it and those lost, it’s also necessary we use it - to be more motivated, passionate, and happy, to be more appreciative of the time we have and the people we spend it with, and remind us to live every precious moment for every morsel of wonder, excitement and love it has to offer. For we can run, but we can’t hide because eventually death visits us all.

 

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Any Day Now

For much of my life I've had an ever-present fear of death. Thinking back on it today, I believe more than anything it was really the fear of the unknown. It was immensely troubling to my young logical mind that the destination was uncertain. While grownups preached faith in a better place, I battled with thoughts, such as, How do they know there's a better place, what if it's actually a permanent sleep or state of darkness, what if it is just the end? Somehow I wanted to find a way to live forever.

At a very early age, I would struggle to stay awake at bedtime. I reasoned that as long as I was conscious I would, at the least, have a fighting chance. Years later, I remember listening to the church congregation gloriously singing, "Count the years as months, count the months as weeks, count the weeks as days, any day now, we'll be going home."  I thought to myself, Are they crazy? What is their hurry? Where is the cause for celebration? They couldn't have known the outcome of death with any more certainty than I did. Didn't they realize that faith, by definition, is rooted in chance?

Growing up, movies dealing with the topic of passing loved ones regularly piqued both my interest and sorrow. As an adolescent, for instance, I can remember watching Brian’s Song many times with my mom and crying every time. By adulthood, Beaches and Boys on the Side, and even a few songs, were producing similar mood-altering effects, sometimes resulting in me tearfully endeavoring to prepare for the impact of such a loss. This perspective caused me to more often consider the fact that any day could be my last. I believe I grew up more intensely focused on whether, on an ongoing basis, I was doing the right thing and the extent to which loved ones knew I cared. With each passing year, however, my questions only multiplied. Where does all of this lead? Why are we here? What is the purpose? Is there rhyme or reason? Does our existence really matter? How can some be seemingly blessed with so much and some with so little? Why do so many of the good have to die so young? Where is the fairness of it all? Is this, all there is? Why the sorrow? Couldn’t this whole life-death thing have been implemented a better way? What is on the other side? Is there another side?

On a still very much unconscionable January day however, my fear and the lion share of questions about death ceased. With the last remnants of life dissipated from my mother's body, too went any surviving traces of innocence and doubt. No logic or intelligence could help me cope with the immense crater in both my heart and the pit of my stomach. Only faith saw me through the pain I could have never imagined, faith in her faith, faith in the Almighty, faith that if I followed in her path, I would see her again.

As a result, my daily concern became retracing the loving and caring life she lived, regardless of what the journey brings. My faith tells me that making the world a little better, as she did in her own way, is the only way to ensure I will see her again.

Shortly after Mom passed, I heard a minister tell a story about three young women sitting on a bench pleading with death to give them another chance. Death left, agreeing to give them a warning before he came again. Twenty years later, the three women, sitting on the same bench, were approached by death again. Each argued that it wasn't their time, that they had received no warning. Death reminded the first woman of a recent surgery that was touch-and-go for a while; and the second woman of a serious car accident a few years ago that she had walked away from. In both cases, Death indicated it was their warning to get their lives in order. The third woman asserted, “I'm different. I've had no accidents and no operations.”

Death responded, “Remember the first time you squinted to see something, your first gray hair, or the first time you couldn’t quite spring out of bed in the morning? You're right, you are different. I've been giving you warnings every day.”

Perhaps, when it’s all said and done, the irony is that this life is simply about preparation for the next. In other words, simply put live right, be respectful, and be cognitive of your daily choices. The Almighty will take care of the rest.

Count the years as months.
Count the months as weeks.
Count the weeks as days.
Any day now, we'll be going home. 

See you soon, Mom.

 

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Another Tear

If I should shed another tear,
Will it be any different today?
Will life have renewed meaning?
Will my mom be back to stay?

Will innocence be found again?
When I worried with whom to play?
Would life be simple like it was,
If my tears come again this day?

Would memories of bad deeds,
From my consciousness be astray?
Would hope and joy unseat them,
If yet another tear I refuse to delay?

I doubt things would alter much.
The truth is at times life is just gray.
Because of that and so many things,
I reserve the right to cry some anyway.

 

The Perfect Gift For Yourself Or Someone Else You Care About

 

 

>> Next Chapter	Born To Lead	Then Life Happened
Perspective, It's Here Somewhere	The Personal Touch	A Little Gratitude
Playing With Passion	Eventually, Death Visits Us All	And Faith Ensues