The outing had been “in the works” for two weeks. My friend and I were going to visit the Owen Rose Garden, a jewel in my local area. Since both of us are recently retired, we have been trying to have some new and different kinds of experiences. The plan was to visit the gardens then go out to lunch.
Even though there was a
brief period of rain showers, we deemed the excursion successful. The roses
were breathtaking in their floral grandeur. A sensory response that resulted in
“Oohs” and “Wows!” was created by displays of large beds of the same type with their
mass of color and beauty. Clusters of
roses in a variety of hues resembled bridal bouquets that were waiting to be
cut. They displayed varying stages of bloom, from buds to full, mature blossoms.
Their fragrance filled the air at one point as we walked from bed to bed, witnessing
a kaleidoscope of color.
As we headed off to lunch, my friend and I mutually agreed the idea had been a good one.
We ate lunch at a small restaurant that specializes in hiring those with disabilities, providing the opportunity for employment for some who might fall through the cracks. We’ve eaten there before. The food is good, as is the service. I ordered a breakfast burrito, knowing I could bring the leftovers home.
We chatted while eating and caught up on one another’s recent activities. As is typical, the conversation never skipped a beat as we moved from one topic to another.
With hunger kept at bay and my leftover burrito in tow, I dropped my friend off at her home and headed towards mine—after stopping by the store to purchase some allergy medicine.
The emergency flashing lights caught my eye as soon as I turned onto my street. I calculated them to be very near my house. Fire? No. But as I got closer, I saw fire trucks and an emergency medical truck parked at the neighbor’s.
The dwelling is a duplex, and the young woman who lives in the unit nearest me was standing outside her door. I crossed the street and asked if she knew what was happening. She had just returned home as well but shared the EMTs took paddles for resuscitation into the home of her next-door neighbor. It appeared the gentleman was in serious condition.
We waited and watched. It wasn’t long before he was brought out on a stretcher, but urgency was not in play. One of the paramedics asked the young woman if she knew of his next of kin. They weren’t free to share information, but the emergency responders left without any sirens or flashing lights. We concluded he had passed.
“I just talked with him yesterday,” the young woman said.
He died while I was eating my breakfast burrito, was my thought.
Death is sobering, perhaps one of the most sobering of humankind’s shared experiences. The finality. The unknown. The lack of control. The universal, common, inevitability—and unpredictability--of it all.
Death has been lurking around the corner, lying just beyond the periphery of my vision. It comes into focus when I turn and look it squarely in the eye. The one-year anniversary of my partner’s passing is a month away. I’ve been attending a weekly grief support group recently, an intense time revolving around loss and grief. I met with a local funeral home this past week as I hope to leave my family unencumbered by any decision-making. And I came home to the reality of my neighbor’s death.
The fact is my neighbor wasn’t the only one who passed from an earthly experience into an eternal one while I was eating my breakfast burrito. It is estimated throughout each day over 160,000 world citizens die; nearly 7,000 pass per hour; 116 per minute.[1] Scores of people passed over into eternity as I was quietly minding my own business. The clincher is that the same will take place for the rest of the world when it is my turn.
This almost-80-year-old has my own unique set of life perspectives. They range from taking guilt-free naps to gauging my steps carefully in order to stay upright to facing a shortened future. For me, “end of life” has taken on a new meaning: reality.
I suspect my neighbor did not awaken yesterday morning with the knowledge his physical life was coming to an end that day. Then again, perhaps he was given that. I cannot presume otherwise.
Many times, however, humankind lives as though there is no end, no next step after the heart stops beating and life is removed. An invincibility reigns in some, a gross misstep.
Preparation for the next life, life after death, is important.
Jesus put that into focus when he related a parable about a man, his wealth, and his goals: The land of a rich man produced an abundant, bumper crop. He had so much he didn’t know where to store it. “Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’”
There was a glitch in his thought process, though, one he had not planned for. . . his mortality. "But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’”[2] Jesus then went on to say that this is what will happen when one stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.
I view death as any other situation in life. You’re either prepared. . . or you’re not. I do not fear death. My life is in the hands of my Creator. He and He alone can prepare me for that experience when I come face to face with Him.
Get your spiritual house in order. You don’t have all day, you know. 😊
We come into this world alone; we leave it alone.
“…prepare to meet your God.”
Amos 4:12