This has been on my mind frequently probably since my Grandma died and then my unborn baby died and a friend of mine is losing her Dad and another friend of mine lost her sister-in-law and another friend of mine has lost much these last few months (she had 2 miscarriages and lost 2 or 3 friends as well).
Death is so mysterious. I wonder things like, “how will I die?” Geeesh. I hope it’s not painful. I hope I don’t suffer. I hope I am not murdered. I hope I am not tortured. I hope it doesn’t happen when my kids are around. I hope that I am an old lady who has lived a full and healthy life when I die. I hope I die in my sleep.
But I don’t know how I will die. The only people who know how they will die, it seems, are the ones who commit suicide. Or maybe there is a moment right before our hearts beat for the last time when we are aware, “oh heck, well I guess this is how I die”… then lights out… the end. I guess if you’re in an airplane and it starts to crash you pretty much know right then how you will die. Not too many people have survived plane wrecks.
The main character in my book is about to die. I have to admit that the last 1/4 of the book has been pretty darn good. I guess this is why Hemingway is considered a literary genius? I don’t know. But he is a fantastic writer. He really is. Unfortunately, I don’t get into manly war things and I don’t really give a flip about the Spanish war he writes about. Maybe I should? I don’t though. But it is about to get tragic. Tragedy is life.
Well I am taking a plane trip to Ohio in June. I think about death whenever I’m about to fly anywhere. I don’t like for Rich to fly either. Not without me. I worry when my sister takes so many trips for her job. I hate planes. I really do. I don’t freak out while I’m flying. But there is a slight panic that settles in my chest until we land. But I don’t freak out. I sit there and try to read the stupid Sky Mall magazine or catch a nap or a conversation with another passenger. The panic leaves me the moment our wheels hit the asphalt.
Life is something we cherish. We prolong it if we can. When we get sick we try to get better. If we’re really serious about life we do all we can to take care of ourselves — eat right, exercise, spend time with our loved ones. Ever notice what happens when someone gets terminally ill? They start to long for the things that are truly important — family, friends, laughter, love. No one I’ve ever heard of wants to die beside their Mercedes or their Yacht. Has anyone ever heard of anyone’s last dying wish to be surrounded by their jewelry, shoes, clothes, make-up, and purses? Has anyone ever felt guilty for not spending enough time with their home theatre or motorcycle? No, that’s silly.
Death. It is so mysterious. It can be so tragic.
How can anyone have hope in this life without faith? At least I know, no matter how I die, that Jesus will be waiting for me on the other side of it. Is dying worth that? I submit that it most certainly is.
It Most Certainly Is