I am convinced death is the most misunderstood part of life. My grandpa died when I was five, the memories surprisingly numerable and clearer than I would expect. I was told once I would see him again. Bubba's body would be made new, he wouldn't be in pain anymore, and there would be lots of cracking up and hugs all around. As a child this was easy to accept, unlike the benefits of daily teeth brushing. I remember my father holding back tears at the wake and I couldn't really understand why. I guess my comment to Aunt Diane that Bubba looked like he was napping well wasn't paid much attention and my first encounter with death was less like a blow and more like a pee in the pants. I miss that. The more aware I became of the brokenness and disappointment of life, the more I realized how much death hurts.
"Bubba died of lung cancer. That's why you don't smoke", "You should always wear your seatbelt!” "That's why you should never wade in the beach after sunset" I'm sure if we recorded all the various comments made to us on the subject of personal safety, there would be some golden ones. I remember a few years ago reading about an unfortunate zookeeper who suffocated in a massive pile of elephant feces upon giving the constipated beast a suppository. My sister and I actually talked about how tragically stupid he was not to have dodged its downpour. But between you and I, let me be frank: we're all going to die. Yeah, yeah everyone says that but who really means it? We strategize our whole life on how to escape death. Sit in a bathtub with your arms over your head, which should be tucked between your legs during a tornado. If dehydrating and in a desert, never drink urine -it only speeds the dehydration up. If floating aimlessly in the middle of the sea, tread lightly rotating between the use of the arms and legs so you will tire less quickly and therefore buying more rescue time. And these are the sensible ones. In middle school I went to a church where this sweet old couple told me they took colloidal silver to keep their health up. The idea of taking a pill with straight silver in it is quite unsettling to me. It's funny how we pad ourselves for death’s sting and then bam. We're stunned our feeble padding only made it worse.
Why do we keep doing this? I, more than any, am frustrated by my inability to wrap my mind around death. What if I've put all my eggs in one basket and it turns out there is no heaven and my body rots and little worms start poking out of me and that's, well, that's it? How did I get like this? I mean, now I'm preaching the blessings of daily teeth brushing and flossing but less sure about my new body and heavenly hugs.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, on the day of his execution for conspiring to assassinate Adolf Hitler, referred to death as "the beginning of life". I read that once when I was in eighth grade. The confidence of that statement rattled me quite a bit and it's always been a phrase I've returned to, like a tongue to a mouth sore. I like it though. Death could just be the passageway to eternal bliss. Death has always seemed like such a daunting part of life. But Bonhoeffer stepped through it. That's the poignancy of his statement -he had faith in the unseen. I want a new body, a land of unending happiness; I want to crack up without the interruption of pain. I want to believe.
So I will. I'm banking on this even though I don't have any second hand accounts -just a Bible and barely a mustard seed of faith. I'm tired of the pressures of remembering what side of the road you jog on, in case I get creamed, or if I eat too much cookie dough and die of raw egg overload. My tongue instinctively mopped my teeth just thinking about a slow death by raw egg and realized I forgot to brush my teeth.
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