OF LIVING AND DYING

sad-Angel

It is Sunday night, I have had one of those deep thought filled days when you just get back from church and reflect deeply. And I’m reflecting on life… and the end wherein we must die.

Life is not so bad actually, it’s a bit better now with the improved power supply. But as all good things must come to an end, so must life, so must we. The righteous ones are even gutsy enough to say they cannot wait to die and go to Heaven. I try to believe them, so I’ll just speak for myself and speak my truths.

I am worried about death, not in itself but in it’s outcome. I believe in Heaven, I really do. But I also believe in being human, in not being privy to God’s plans. What if after everything, I didn’t do something right? What if I did it all, yet was just not “Heaven material?” These things one can only realize when it’s too late. Indeed, I am afraid of death because there really is no coming back. I am not ready for that kind of finality.

I am worried about grief, about the way people handle death. I’m worried about the people I would leave behind. I want to be mourned thoroughly. I want to be cried for, but I don’t want to be mourned with regret, no, not at all.

I am afraid of the way in which death happens. 1001 ways to die,and death in one’s sleep is just one way… i don’t want to die in one of those ways where people would feel sorry for me even though i have become no more. I don’t want to be shot or have some unfortunate bungee jumping accident where the rope is too long and it just crash to pieces into some rock or something.

I am NOT afraid of death (true, true, true). I am more concerned about the details in the living. A friend of mine (smart young man) once said “All men must die to prove that they have lived”. But what if death just means and end of an existence? What if I never get to live and death comes a few days too early, a few dreams yet realised? What if I never get to live? What if I never get to fall in love, that forceful love that breaks you to pieces yet makes you whole? What if I never get to have good sex? What if I never get to speak in tongues? What if  never have that opportunity to tell my story? What if I end up alone with no one I’m sure will miss me?

What if I die and simply pass away? with no one to tell my story, no one to remember me fondly? no one to leave flowers by my grave every year? What if we all die the way we are born? Not by our choice or information?

All men must die… we all must, we must all. To prove we lived or existed or to prove nothing at all.

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