Everybody is going to die someday. Most likely not on the same day. But everyone will at some point die. You think about it sometimes, don’t you? I sure do. Not like it’s a hobby. Though my mind does wander and I wonder what it will be like.
Who will be there?
Will I be alone?
Will I see it coming?
Will it sneak up from behind?
You know the questions. You’ve entertained them yourself. Someday we will have the answers.
I’ve had some close calls. Once when I was an infant. Once when I was in Africa. And once recently, that felt a lot closer than it probably was. When you have surgery, it’s common to go under anesthesia. Most people wake up. Some people don’t. (According to Dr. Oz, the chances of not waking up are about the same as you dying from a bad haircut. Which I read in a comment to a blog I found in a Google search.) Though the odds were far in my favor, we humans tend to focus on the potential negative. So I pondered the fact that I might go down and not get back up and all the stuff that comes along with that happy how-do-you-do.
I didn’t think I was going to die. But I knew I was choosing to put myself at risk, even if it was small. Which is silly because the behavior that precipitated the surgery, waterskiing, is clearly more dangerous for a 37 year old man with great blood work than general anesthesia. But it doesn’t feel that way.
Even though I believed I would wake up and return, albeit painfully, to my family, I still dealt with actual feelings I hadn’t had to confront until then. What if I don’t? Am I ready?
My grandfather passed away last summer. I spoke to him on his 85th birthday and he told me he had another 5 years left in him. He didn’t seem ready to leave. He almost made it. Most of those years were solid. I wonder what he was thinking as he grew silent and waited out his last days. Was he ready?
I think about these things.
I like that I think about these things.
What do you think about these things?