Today I'm analyzing death. I do that sometimes and have come up with a plethora of conclusions as a result.
To begin with, the thought of being dead doesn't bother me. Getting dead is a little worrisome, but by and large, if being dead was such a bad thing,would so many do it? I don't recall a single instance of hearing or reading about someone being dead for a year and came back because it was too much work. I have, on the other hand, heard and read of the opinions of a variety of organized religions and their differing thoughts of what heaven is - and isn't.
Martha and George were married young and lived to a ripe old age. George is happy as a clam all their married life because Martha waits on him, raises the family, cleans the house, and never argues with him. An eternity of this life is George's idea of heaven. Martha, however, has something else in mind.
Martha's idea of heaven is being able to relax without an ornery, spoiled, grumpy bugger demanding every second of her time, telling her what her opinions are, and reminding her she's never done anything right since he met her. She doesn't care a lick about which level of heaven she goes to, as long as it isn't with him. Hmmmm.
None of us remember where we were before we got here, so who is to say we remember here when we get there? Maybe we do remember so we can snort and guffaw about how stupid we were for a lifespan here.
Maybe we are just individuals without our earthly families -- you know, all God's children and all that? Martha will know George and remember that he was a good provider and really did have a pretty good sense of humor. George will realize he was kind of a *ick, but he really did love her. They might meet for coffee sometimes.
How about those of us who make bad mistakes? Do we have to do it over again because we were idiots? I don't want to do it over again for any reason.
My brother is the reason for all these deep ruminations at this time. He's dying. He isn't in a rush and he is treating his cancer in an effort to postpone the inevitable, but it will kill him. He will be 66 next month. I'm mourning the loss of a dear brother I lost 45 years ago. Deep thought, that. It's a whole 'nother story.
He's being pragmatic about the second most major event in one's life staring him in the face. He isn't so much asking, why me? as, why not me? In a nutshell: shit happens. There ain't none of us getting out of this alive.
Hence my thoughts on life and death. I thought I'd be first. I want to go like Mom and drop like a rock, or simply wake up dead. I'd give him some of my years, if I have any left.