TITLE IT WHAT YOU SHALL

Having attended more burials than weddings, it's evidently clear to me that parting ways with a beloved is more certain than being unified. In contrast, having been in joy more than in sorrow then there might be more meaning to life than death.

Often do I write with the end in mind but on this bear if my boat of meaning rock in these storms of thoughts. I sight no land. Hopefully we shall dock by some shores of conclusion.

I sprung off my seat when the scary fact, that I opted as my opening sentence, disturbed my peace. With that held within, I found myself sat on this part of our garden where a rose grows forth from the blades of grass. I study this living thing of beauty: its dark green leaves, the thorns, the somewhat tender stems, the vernal flowers, several fruits soon to blossom and some withered and dried dead. Even unto the flowers is one in its prime of perfection while another are its petals torn and at the verge of falling. Such is life. In this very space, barely to notice, is the peace resting place of the one I once considered my mother. Hardly is it to be conscious of the profound fact if you're a visitor opting to be at that area preferring the tranquility that comes with the fountains at the garden.

Death is scary. But so is life that many consider the former. Among the fears of men highlighted by Napoleon Hill in his book Think and Grow Rich is the fear of death. I'll purposefully not dig into his literature but respectfully object this analogy by this: 'We don't fear death. We're afraid of how we'll die.'

***

Having buried my high school best friend, died of the illness of depression, collapsing at the unbearable weight and succumbing to the final symptom: suicide, the lonely hour drive back was a dreadful one. For some moments I considered my inexistence and was at peace with it. But not for long.

On the approaching lane, far away was a trailer truck. It approached at immense speeds, flashing out its headlights, that it had its container swinging sideways. A falling danger by any slight whiff of wind. My survival instinct kicked in and had me press on the gas just to pass the approaching container guillotine before dropping on me. As this behemoth of a vehicle drew nearer so did fear build in me and at the sight of the carriage at my window I heard my heart lament: ' Not this way.'

***

What happens when we die?

In our dreams we do, if you have ever, envisage a near death occurrence but even in death of the dreams never do we go past the death but rather awaken from the nightmare. The mind can't decipher the beyond.

When the house of the ruler of the synagogue was bereaved of their daughter of twelve years of age, it is written '...and when he was come in, he (Jesus) saith unto them, Why make ye this ado, and weep? the damsel is not dead, but sleepeth.' Death is sleep. An eternal slumber.

Often a times do we awake in the morn with no memory of the night. No remembrance of how we laid. That when the sunlight beams to our eyes and the morning dawns only then shall it be a good morning to us, otherwise, the eternal peaceful slumber will then be considered as death.

***

The florist's shop had an array of flowers that I purchased for my best friends, surprisingly of the male kind: Allan and Paul. The latter considered it insulting being of staunch masculinity. "I'm not your girl friend." He objected the present shoving it back to me. "No. It's yours. I mean it." I offered. He drooped his head low his face not to be captured by my camera as I took a photo of him. Allan took the present, looked keenly at it, and said, "The next flowers we receive will be when we bury each other. In my years no one has done this to me. Thank you. "

They both accepted the flowers and walked in the mall in the romance of brotherhood. Every day that I visited their premises, there the flowers would be in vases but later died and dried but still kept in the vases. A sad reality that it won't last forever. We give more flowers to the dead than to the living because regret is heavier than gratitude.

Dear reader, having attended more burials than weddings, it's now certain to me as it is written that death is only sleep and as for him that is joined among the living there's hope. For a living dog is better than a dead lion.