When I was eleven years old, I experienced my first, first-line death. It was the death of my sister, who successfully committed suicide. Less than four years later, I would experience the death of my mother. By 2006, I was the only member of my family remaining to face death, save for a long-ago distant lost sister.
Sometimes, being the baby of a large family truly sux rox hard. I was first given a terminal diagnosis in 1976. By 1980, the doctor that gave it to me was dead. I was not. I have always thought that to be weird, and prophetic in a very weird sort of way. Add to that the truth that I officiated at his funeral, and you have an entire cocktail of weirdness.
In 2006, I was given a second terminal diagnosis. I was told that, even with all drastic measures, I would be dead in less than 18 months, and my best bet was to go home and get my affairs in order. As I look at my watch, I'm a bit late on that score, as well.
I know that I am dying. I have been, quite literally, since my birth. I have helped several thousands of humans across the River Jordan, privileged to share with them a holy and sacred place at the moment of their death. Several of them shared my blood. Yes, it is personal.
To honor those, and those diarists, I want to share with you some very wise words once shared with me by a very special friend and councilor: Max Lucado. He said:
"Dying is not difficult. Everybody does it at least once. You don't even have to do anything special. It's usually kind of an automatic thing. Sometimes, it takes a while, and sometimes it happens in the blink of an eye.
"Leaving? Well, that's another story all together. You cannot usually tell much about a person by how they die. But, you can tell a lot about a person by the way they leave."
There are days when my life is so lousy that I must admit that I hope I need to pick up my luggage soon, but not many. Some days, I see my bags packed, and consider unpacking them. They are packed. I'm ready to go. I know where I'm going, and I am not afraid.
Some days, I hope to stick around for a good long while because of people, or things, or moments. Other days, I am much more circumspect about things, and yet again know that, should I be called home today, I would more than willingly depart this mortal coil. Some days, I can't get out of bed. Only those days are failures for me, even if I do the best I can do.
One of the important tasks I have tried to get others to share is the saying of "Goodbye". More than any other, I try to help people understand the value of saying that one word to their every regret. I hope that every regret they leave gives their every day room for more sunshine, more love, and more joy. Every bitterness removed, every hatred forgiven, every doubt erased. We keep all these things in our heart, where only wisdom and love should be.
I am, like you, a "belly button kid". I'm not much, and not worth any more, or any less than anyone else. There are days when I look back across the arc of my life and see only good days. There are times when I can only seem to find bad days. I've failed a lot, and I've been lucky a lot. I've had the great fortune of great fortune--and poverty. Every day, I awake with the wonder of a child. I take hold of my "Dad's" hand and look forward to wherever He leads me that day.
I"m just like those two Kossacks. I'm just like you. You are just like me. I look forward to every day, and every moment--even the not-so-great moments of my life and my living. Some days, I seem to only be able to count the pain of life, and of this life presently. Other days, I cannot even see anything but wonder, and love, and goodness, and selfless acts of kindness. I do try, every day. Sometimes, I think maybe I even make it to a selfless moment.
I no longer deny myself the luxury of perfection, either in my life or in yours. I am more than willing to settle for average. Heck, even average wonder ain't so durned bad, ya know.
I hope only that, when someone hears of my passing, they don't regret hearing my name. In the very best instance, I hope they will smile with a happy, fond remembrance.
In the words of a rather famous joke, I hope I go across the River smiling in my sleep, like my Grandpa did; not scared and screaming like the passengers he was driving at the time.
I read a diary written as the beginning of a fond farewell by one diarist. It was incredible. Then, I read a diary honoring the passing of a valued friend and colleague. It is true that, in my life, I have been incredibly rich, and incredibly poor.
I can only hope, and pray that my life will find such moments as these I have read this day. Such love, kindness and gentleness makes life such an amazing journey!
I say, Go For It! You never know, you might just make it! Just for today.
Today is always enough. Always.
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