We all die at some point. What really matters is what we do and experience before that. If I died tomorrow, a week from now, a year from now or at some point in the future, what difference would it make how? Maybe I’d die in an accident, get run over by a bus, or die from disease, or get shot. Those last moments would probably be painful, but they’d hardly be the part of my life that mattered. The parts that matter would be everything I went through before that. 

What happens after someone’s dying does tell a story however. When my grandfather died, I was one of the people to carry his coffin and lower it down to the grave. As I was told, tradition dictated the order of the people carrying it, the closest people being on the front side. I was second on the list, right after his son or my uncle. After that it was my father and the father of my cousin, and on the back row the priest or whoever was in charge of the ceremony and an obligatory male of the “audience”.

So what I can extrapolate from that is, I was the second-closest man to him, and there was no contest over the next positions either. And what did I know about him? I thought he was an obnoxious old man who yelled at us for every sound we made as kids, and pretty much ruined the only Christmas I remember we spent there with that. For all my childhood I was afraid of him, and was only glad if he decided not to be around the house when we were visiting.

I don’t really care how I die, because that part of life lasts only a moment compared to the rest of it. I don’t really care what happens afterwards, because I won’t be around to see, hear or experience it. But through this chain of thought, what I know is this:

I don’t want to live a life that results in the kind of death and burial my grandfather had.


~ by Ndprs on November 9, 2013.

One Response to “Death”

  1. Been half-following this for a while, and since there hasn’t been a post in over a year, it makes me wonder what happened, mr. Writer. Abandoned or are you gone …

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