The immorality of mortality

I could say a lot about what has happened over the past two or three days. My words would be reactionary and reckless though. I believe that, for the most part, my title suggests what it is that I feel at the moment. I want to let things simmer for a while before I try and approach the subject again.

Until then, let the title simmer in your own brains and write in the comments whatever it is that rises to the surface. I do want to include several questions and comments before I sign off on this post...

**Let me first say that seeing her in bed must wound them in the deepest places of their hearts. I cannot fathom the never-ending grief that must overwhelm them when they walk through the door. I cannot pretend to know how much it hurts to see a loved one laying in front you, unable to respond, unable to reach out and acknowledge your presence. I cannot begin to understand the anger, the fear, the resentment and sadness that must wash over the minds and hearts of her husband and sister and parents.

I also cannot understand why her life and her death are the business of people who neither know her and her family nor know of their suffering over the past fifteen years..

**Congress is not God, neither are doctors nor nurses nor ministers, only God is God, to believe in our own power and ingenuity to stave off death is arrogant and blasphemous.

**We simply do not know how to die well, which I believe is a direct result of our inability to live meaningful lives...

**As a society, I think we believe that death is sinful and thus justly deserving of our obsession with delaying the natural course of decay that our bodies inevitably undergo.

**Acceptance of our finitude is a necessary component to living faithfully.

**No parent should have to outlive their child; likewise, the life of any parent should not be so entwined with their children that they cannot let go should that painful event happen.

**Death is never the end, whether you believe in an afterlife or not, people live through the passing down of the narratives of their lives, what are the stories that will be told about you?

This may be all you get from me on this story, but it will not be the last time I speak of death. To die well, is to know that we have lived and tasted the good fruit of our lives. It is to know that we have loved; it is to know that we have cared; it is to know that we have done all that we could with the moments of our lives as they presented themselves to the best of our abilities.

Death may come slowly like a lazy river winding through an open field; it may come like the gentle waves that lap against the shorelines. Death may come like the eruption of a volcano; it may come like the jagged cut of a bolt of lightening. Regardless of how, it will come. We may divert it, we may run from it, we may even shield ourselves from it, but in those times there is no life, only fear.

I do not want to die knowing that I have not lived. I do not want to die knowing that I did not experience the rich colors of a life well lived. I desire authenticity; I yearn for peace in the deepest places of my soul; and I hope that those around me will not hang on too tightly, but that they will remember that above all else they were loved...

grace and peace



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