As always, you know I like to start the year off on a high note. Not that I’ve ever been confused about whether I’m going to die or not, I do realize that it’s not something I think about often. When I do, it makes me so sad I can barely breathe. The finality of it all. Death. Something so scary many people don’t even like saying the word.
Some people are so scared of it they don’t even want to live.
When I think about death, I think about the possibility of the nonexistence of an after-life. I think about the possibility of there being no hell or heaven. I think of closing my eyes and never hearing, seeing, feeling or thinking anything, ever… again.
After having my heart broken, I’ve had the ability to feel love again. After being sick with the flu, or anything else for that matter, I’ve gotten better. I even lost the ability in my left eye last month, but by the grace of GOD, I got it back. Alhamdillah. I’ve lost my appetite before, but you can bet your ass I’ve gotten it back. Hell, even women have the ability to say they’ve gotten their virginity back after losing it! lol [beware, I do this twice]
After death though, as far was we all know, all of our consciousness here on earth is gone, for good. Never to return. I’m never going to hear my kids playing in the next room over again. Never going to hear a car start again. Never going to see planes flying in the air. Never gonna see my girls perfect booty bouncing when she walks. Just… nothing.
On the day I die:
There will be a funeral. People weeping, and I would have either been burned to ashes, sitting in an urn or lowered into the ground in an expensive box. People will mourn and or celebrate my life later on that day, or maybe even the day before. I can’t lie, I don’t know how this goes, I’ve never really been to funeral before. My parents took me to one when I was a kid, but I chose to stay outside all day. My grandfathers funeral, I unfortunately didn’t get to attend because bereavement leave for me had ran out… and at the time I actually WANTED to keep my job. When grandma died, I was in Afghanistan, and though I didn’t really care about formalities with the job, and leave and all that… I didn’t make it out of the country in time. I don’t know or hang out with a bunch of thugs, gangsters and whatnot, and all the hardcore soldiers and Marines I know happened to make it back from war unscathed so I haven’t really been privy to many funerals.
I’ll be going to my first funeral next week.
My brother, Barry: husband, father, Army vet, lost his battle with cancer on the third of February. From what I know,he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer at least over a year and a half ago. I knew for about a week or more that things were going south with him. Like… deep south. He was having issue after issue and it just seemed like his body was giving up on him. Admittedly my brother Barry and I were not THAT close. If you couldn’t tell by all the “from what I know” and whatnot, but we didn’t really need to see one another every day to know we were brothers and that we loved each other. When I drove up to Dallas to see him a couple weekends ago it was like seeing a stranger. My brother was in the hospital, no meat on his bones, green,
jaundiced eyes, discolored tongue… he was loopy and in and out of coherence at times. From what I understand when he was there he was still himself. But knowing him, inside his head he was aware of what was going on with him.
He knew full well he was about to die.
Can any of us know what this feels like? All the shitty things in my life, I know can get better. I’ve been overweight, and I’ve lost it. I’ve had overdue bills… and I’ve paid them. I’ve had my heart broken, but I’ve found someone better. I’ve had spats with my parents, but we’ve patched things up. But dying. Dying is final. There’s no solution to it.
Barry will never see his wife again. Barry won’t see his kids again. Barry wont…. ever see grass, or the sky, or sit in traffic again. It’s over.
Now, to believers, they will say it’s just the beginning. And if their soul is going to the right place, they’re going to The Everlasting. They’re going to Sugarcandy Mountain, the land of milk and honey. Where the streets are paved with gold. Going to lie in gardens beneath which rivers flow. But if we believe that; that our friends, family and loved ones are going to this AWESOME fucking place, why are we so sad when they die? This is all we know. Life… it’s all we know for sure. I can say I have faith in heaven and hell all I want but I haven’t been there, I haven’t seen it, and I’m going to miss the person whether heaven exists or not! And if its all good up there, why can’t we communicate anymore? Why the big secret?
Either way… I just know, that on the way out it can’t be pretty. While you’re sitting there in the hospice/hospital bed…. or in a pool of blood, or in that wrecked car, or that crashing airplane an you know your death is imminent… it has to be the suckiest thing ever. Knowing you may not have your affairs in order. Knowing you may have some unresolved issues with people in your life. Knowing you’ll never breath again and never taste cheesecake or hamburgers again. Knowing the last breath you’re about to take is your last… it’s just really gotta suck.
That’s why when the few times in my life someone has died, I hated it when people asked, “how are you holding up?” I’m like… dude, I’m fine. I’M ALIVE! I’m not dying, I’m not dead. I get to continue this thing we call life, they’re the one at the crossroads. Not me. And I don’t want to be selfish and make it about me. But these instances (and others) always take me into a deep state of thinking, revolving around the well-known but not-so-often talked about fact that: We’re all gonna die.
Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un.
Scream at me
P.S. Fuck Cancer