DEATH (1 PG)
Death? No, Iím not afraid of death. Iím afraid of what happens just before death. I hate pain.|
I cling to life out of fear of dying, but death, itself, doesnít bother me. You are here or youíre not. If youíre dead, you are nothing, feel nothing, think nothing and nothing bothers you because you really are no longer able to feel pain.
Spill a cup of scalding coffee down your lap and thatís a jump-around and howl sort of pain. Hit your thumb with a hammer or tear your leg on a barbed wire fence, it really gets you. You pay attention, you shake your thumb, hoping it will ease the throbbing. Your blood running down your leg from a tear in the thigh from that fence and, yes, you grab up something to stop the flow of blood. You squint tightly and tell yourself that really does hurt. You wish it hadnít happened, but you know itís not going to kill you.
But, when everything, everywhere hurts enough that you are going to die from it, thatís an altogether different kind of pain. In your mind, you know this is the big one, that pain that stops your heart, your brain and sets everything else into shutdown mode. The uncertainty, too, is the killer. Will death come over a lingering period of pain that grows worse with each day? Will it come from a bullet between the eyes with the resultant death coming too quickly to grasp? Either way, you suffer from that shutdown, quick or slow. Itís pain.
That is exactly what I want to avoid. That pain alone is what causes me to avoid anything that might possibly mean I could die from it. Like I said, once youíre dead, itís all over. But, the fright that grips me when I imagine the pain that precedes death, thatís enough right there to cause me to cling to life.
Iím too cowardly to die. Maybe thatís why we make up the stories about our wishful thinking wherein we float around up there and still hear, smell and enjoy things, but canít be seen anymore by those below us. Trash! Come back as a dog, cat or favorite type of person and succeed the next time versus the imagined moderate failure of this time around? Nonsense.
When nothing works and the body is cold, the brain waves have ceased and the heart pumps no longer; thatís dead. No second chances. Problem is, if dying is as painful as I believe it to be, Iíd never have the nerve to consider trying it again even if I found I was able.
Second chances would be a catastrophe, anyhow. Once we know what weíve learned the first time, that sort of head start the second time would tend to mess things up far more than benefit a person. Just imagine being a two year old and being so frustrated because you canít yet talk well, canít drive, too small and ordinary yet to attract girls and certainly canít go into that business you always wanted to do but had never tried while here the first time.
With that sort of pressure, weíd probably blow a fuse before we ever got on that first tricycle. Search out our fathersí gun and blow our brains out over the multitude of limitations we were living under.
And, think, if we really did get a chance at that re-incarnation thing, weíd eventually have to go through the entire nasty process of dying again. No, Iím just not up to it. Let me live once, live well and manage somehow to get through the dying part, when it comes, without looking like too much of a cry baby. I do hate pain.
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