death: because living is so 2006
I have a problem with hospitals. It's the same problem I have with the terminally-ill. It's the same problem I have with funerals. And it's the same problem I have with death. I can visit sick friends in the hospital. I can bring flowers. I can sign cards. I can pat foreheads. I can attend funerals. I can view bodies. I can offer condolences. I can offer tissues or a shoulder to cry on.
But I can't just 'be' in the moment there. Suffice to say, if I become too emotionally invested in visiting a sick or dying friend at the hospital, or in paying my respects, I have trouble processing the information.
I think it's because there's a part of me that fully understands my mortality. There's a part of me that comprehends what I am looking at; what I am admitting to when I show ovations of emotion at these events. I'm seeing myself. I'm the one with cancer. I'm the one with a tumor. I'm the one that's laying in that casket. And when I cry, I think it's because that human part of me that understands what I'm really looking at--what lies in wait for me--just hasn't reconciled with my logic. My mind just can't yet accept that I will get sick and die some day.
It's quite the paradox, I guess. I'm not an imbecile. I know I'm going to die. I know that a day is going to come very soon where the light switch will just *click* and that's that. And even though I know this is the one inevitable truth in life, there is a part of me that will bite, claw, and scratch to prevent it from happening.
"He wants to be immortal? What a fuckin' idiot."
I'm not a moron. I know that immortality is impossible. Well, that is until stem-cell research allows me to replace all my organs and tissue every 50 years, thus allowing me eternal life. But in all seriousness, I know I'm not the only person that feels this way. We all fight death for the exact same reason: It's not that we want to live forever. We're just not ready to die, yet.
I'm terrified of dying. Not because I don't know what lies beyond the veil of life. But because I've yet to finish what I've started in this life. When I'm seconds from that threshold, I don't want my last gasp to be a shock. I don't want to struggle to hold on to that last moment of livingness (yes, it's a word). I want that final squeeze from my lungs to be a sigh of satisfaction. A sigh like the one you make after you've accomplished some magnificent task. Finishing a 64 oz. steak. Re-reading your favorite book. Letting out a satisfying fart/burp. Completing a difficult assignment. Finally getting your kid to sleep or finally getting your dog to shut up (I imagine the two are basically interchangeable).
Whatever the task, you know the feeling. That's what I want my last gasp of breath to encompass. Not a perfect life. Just a complete one.
I've never been one to quote the bible, but I first saw this passage on my aunt's gravestone (oddly enough, the very first funeral I'd ever been to) and it has stuck with me ever since:
"I have fought the good fight. I have finished the race. I have kept my faith." -2 Timothy 4:7
To you, dear reader, I wish you a good fight. I hope that you do reach the finish line. I hope that you keep faith in whatever you cherish most--yourself, God, Allah, your friends, your family. I hope your last breath is a sigh of relief. I don't dare wish you a perfect life. But I sincerely hope you have a complete one.
And in case any of you were wondering, here are just some of the things I want to do before I die (it's a work-in-progress):
-Run around doing nothing but awesome-looking air kicks, with pictures to prove it.
-Learn an instrument besides the drums.
-Sing someone a song (karaoke doesn't count).
-Watch the sun rise and set all in the same day.
-Climb something other than furniture.
-Impart wisdom on someone.
-Learn to do a back flip.
-Jump off of something (bridge, plane, etc.), thus curing my fear of heights.
-Purposely crash a car.
-Write something truly meaningful.
-Rob a bank (ok, not really, but something that provides a similar rush).
