IT COMES TO US ALL... BY SANDRA HARRIS.
IT COMES TO US ALL…
BY SANDRA
HARRIS. ©
I recently discovered that a man I knew slightly but really
liked and was looking forward to getting to know better- we’ll call him Dave-
had died, just two days after I last saw him. I did that thing that pretty much
everyone does when they hear that someone they know has died. I said to the
person imparting the news: Oh, but how can he be gone? I’d only just seen
him and talked to him two days earlier…! As if that could somehow make
someone immune from death.
I was stunned at the news and really, really sad at the loss
to the world of such a decent, gentle kind-hearted soul, someone who adored
animals and wildlife, music and poetry (he’d written countless poems
himself) and chatting to people and having a laugh. He’d been cut down in
his prime as well, having not even reached his fiftieth birthday.
I’ll say it again, it just made me so sad, thinking about how
he might have had plans left undone and wishes and dreams left unfulfilled. The
suddenness of Dave’s death also hit me hard, forcing me to think about my own
mortality, something I usually try to avoid thinking about at all costs.
I mean, I’d seen him on a Tuesday, and he was gone by the
Thursday, and as far as I know he had no clue this was going to happen, no more
than I did. When we said goodbye on the Tuesday, neither of us literally had a
clue that it would be for the last time. That’s the bit that truly kills me, if
you’ll excuse the unintentional pun.
Like, how can this happen in the first place and, also, if it
can happen to Dave, might it not also happen to me or, even worse, to someone I
love? To be there one minute and gone the next, to be going about your business
as usual on a Tuesday but be buried by Saturday, without having had the least
forewarning about what was coming down the tracks? It’s a terrifying thought,
isn’t it?
Dave’s premature passing is making me take stock of my life.
I’ve had my children, whom I love very much, and I’ve written some of the books
I wanted to write, but with plenty more books still in my head. I’ve
written a will, and I’ve indicated where I would like some of my possessions to
go.
I’m nowhere near finished writing, however, as I have loads
more to say (right, what smartass just made a groaning noise?), and I
want to spend many more years with my children, and I want to read more books
and watch more films and pet more doggies and more moggies and go for loads
more walks in the fresh air and snooze in the sun loads more times and hug a
ton more trees. Lord, I’m not done yet! I’m not finished!
But we never know the day or the hour, right? Unless, say,
we’re ninety-five, we’ve lived full and exciting lives and we’re lying in our
beds waiting for God’s angels to come and usher us into the next life. Then and
only then might you have an idea that Death was hovering nearby. The rest of us
haven’t really got a clue; we can only speculate.
That being the case, should we live our lives as if it all
might come to an end suddenly at any time? Live your life as if it’s your
last day, and one day you’ll be right, they say. Well, is that really
possible? For example, today I have to pay my gas bill if I want us all
to go on having heating and hot water in the future but, if it were my last day
on earth, I might chance leaving it to someone else.
Our days are filled with work and/or domestic duties and
things we absolutely have to do if we intend to keep on living in our homes and
eating food and having electricity and gas and things. We have to queue for stuff, on the phone or in person, we have to pay bills and fees for this and
that, we have to prepare and cook food if we want to go on living and we have
to have difficult conversations with people and- sometimes, sadly- take a pet to the
vet to be put to sleep.
We can’t spend every minute of every day sky-diving or swimming with dolphins
or climbing Mount Everest, as we might try to do if it were our last day on
earth. Better just to do our work and fiddly annoying jobs with the best grace
as we can muster, then fill the rest of our days with as much love, laughter,
fun, culture and beauty as is humanly possible.
Take those lovely nature walks. Read books by your favourite author. Watch the film whose release you’ve been eagerly awaiting. Hug the dog or cat. Forgive someone. (That’s a really hard one for me, as I hold grudges, oh Lord, how I do hold grudges!) Remember to slow down and really breathe sometimes. Be kind to yourself and others. And always tell your loved ones you love them, just in case you don’t get the chance in the end, when it all starts kicking off.
‘Bye for now, and Rest in Peace, Dave.
Sandra Harris.
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