This morning I woke up and was shocked to realize I am going to die. I rolled out of bed to eat so I could live so I can die. I hear this is a morbid and sick way to think, but I am only being real and honest. The impermanence of life is shocking when we give it any serious thought. Usually, I literally believe death and old age is an eternity away. The prospect of death interrupts my usuals. My Cheerios, my coffee, my Starbucks, my friends, my family. It all becomes unusual when I realize how short of a time I really enjoy my usuals compared to the length of eternity. Everything is foreign to me right now.
The sun and squinting. It’s warmth. The air. The wind. The sky and grass. The seasons. Trees. Feeling air, heat, cool. Feeling rain. Enjoying rain and running from rain. Laughing. Feeling. Loving and hating. Hugging and kissing. Cuddling. Remembering. Seeing beauty. Hearing music. Tasting foods. New foods. Favorite foods. Eating too much. Touching. Stinging, itching, and scratching. Smelling the air. Smells and perfume. Annoyances and pleasures. Daydreams and nightmares.
One day it will all stop. I suppose these things won’t stop, but they will for us. These things were here long before we were. Then, somewhere, we come in for a very brief time. We wake up and see the suns beauty. We hope for the day, drinking coffee. We work hard as the sun gets higher and hotter. We eat, drink, love, and hate under it. We find reasons and ways to keep moving regardless of what happens. We hope good things never end knowing they will, and we hope bad things pass doubtful that they will. The sun starts to set , and we hope for a beautiful sunset. We worry if we’ve done what we needed to. We get tired as everything grows dark, so we go to sleep wondering what is was all about.
Everything is strange and foreign; everything is temporary. Everything will be stripped from me at death. I have my memories of childhood. They feel like everything to me, but will they be forgotten when I die? Will they be nothing? We are weak and fragile, needy until we die. It takes people a long time to see the truth of death. I hate thinking that my parents who were my protection and caregivers will need protection and care from me in the future. It terrifies me. I don’t know that I can deal with the loneliness. The loneliness and fear of death seems unbearable. Who can go with me?
I have this thought of what my deathbed will be like. During my last breath, when all is going dark. And the last bit of brain activity is ending, I will yearn desperately for my childhood. I will want to return to that place that I thought I had worked so hard to overcome. All I will want to do is walk side by side with my daddy. I would have my hand wrapped in his big strong hand as I try to make my footsteps as big as his. I will want to fear his anger again knowing that it’s good his anger is feared because he is my protection. I will desperately plead with time to return to my mother’s tender touch and loving kisses. I will want nothing more than the naivety of childhood and the embracing love and security of my mommy and daddy.
But I will not find it. My mother and father will not be there to reassure me. I will have to go it alone. Why do we work so very hard to overcome? Why do we always want to move into the future?
I feel like I am on a subway moving in one direction. As we go, it only moves faster. No one seems to notice that we cannot go back. They are all eating and laughing and excited about what is coming up in the next few miles but paying no attention to the destination. In a desperate attempt to stop the train, I reach out the window and claw the wall knowing it will have no effect. I scream, and no one helps; but it doesn’t matter because no amount of people could ever stop it anyway.
I panic in the the powerlessness of my eternity minded self under the rule of it’s temporary, dying body.
Andrew Thomasson 