Prompt in Death

I took ill one day and when my condition did not respond to natural remedies, I was hospitalized. After a little while, word went out that I was in a very poor way. A few kind souls made time to visit as I lay wasting on the hospital bed. The room reeked of antiseptic, making me feel faint almost all the time. I had not a few lengthy prayers said over me, and some textbook admonitions too: be strong, do not give up, have faith, think positive, speak your wellness into being, crap that I knew already, that now disgusted me.

I did not need lengthy prayers from my visitors, really. Shorter, crisp ones would have suited me just fine. Maybe I was more gravely ill than I knew and they figured I needed a generous dose of divine intervention. I was far too gone to care anyway. Without taking anything away from the effort of my friends, I did not need clichéd lines of encouragement regurgitated to me from self-help literature about how I needed to have a positive attitude, how to speak my healing into being, how my words become my reality. I knew most of that BS because I happen to read it and about it all the time. It was all starting to grate my ears.

I just needed someone to take my hand and tell me, notwithstanding whichever way this would end, that everything was going to be okay. Someone to make light of my situation, someone to tell me a good story, someone to crack me up with a crass joke or two. I longed for someone to share with the history of my past, my triumphs and failures, the good and marred memories, the great leaps and broken dreams, hope and despair, love won and love lost. I wanted to be vulnerable at last.

As the days passed, it became clear to me that my life was steadily ebbing away but I remained stoic in the face of my plight, with no fear whatsoever about what lay beyond my present reality. I had made peace with my past and I often hummed an old, favorite hymn to myself.

“Abide with me; fast falls the eventide..”

During the long, lonesome spells when I had no one visiting, I pondered where my “friends” were, the thousands scattered in cyber space, those who “followed” me and “liked” any and everything I wrote. But I was mindful that they were busy balancing the delicate act of life and of living, so much so that my impairment was most likely a weak bleep on their radar. Many wrote me words of encouragement, promising that they would come and check on me as soon as they could “spare” some time to. But with each passing day, the time eluded them.

I soon made peace with that too. I held nothing against anyone. I understood their predicament.

Inevitably, the hour arrived when the silver cord was severed, when the golden bowl was broken; when the pitcher was shattered at the spring, the wheel broken at the well. I sped onward through the vast unknown, the strained strings of the final verse of my favorite hymn fading slowly into the distance..

(Image credit: https://www.google.co.ug/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0ahUKEwic5NCkxqnWAhUGuhQKHcyGAg4QjRwIBw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.lanlinglaurel.com%2Fdeath-pictures.html&psig=AFQjCNGGms8YWeECJeThWdYLSKYmjLTvPA&ust=1505645691488785)

“Hold Thou Thy Rood before my closing eyes; shine through the gloom and point me to the skies; Heav’n’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee..”

The news quickly spread that I had been gathered to my ancestors, news that was received with a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a macabre measure of relief in some quarters. Soon enough, plans for the interment of my remains were underway. On a warm and moonlit night, a vigil was held in my remembrance. A huge fire was lit in the compound around which my friends gathered speaking in hushed tones. Once in a while, a brave soul laughed out loud, causing me to laugh along silently. Sparks from the fire fiercely flew heavenward but unlike me, they died a few feet into their journey.

Having been known to be a Christian, my funeral service was swiftly arranged the next day and was attended by 520 friends and family, lovers and ex-lovers, creditors and debtors. The entire ceremony lasted 2 hours and 5 minutes or nearly 1,100 man-hours. Tears flowed freely, hymns were sung solemnly and I was eulogized liberally. A generous collection was made to, ostensibly, offset the costs of my sendoff and it was duly handed over to my family.

How fitting!

At the graveside the day after, the clergyman implored The Maker to judge my poor soul mercifully, to recall my good deeds and not count my misdemeanors against me, and to receive me to Himself. 910 people attended my burial which stretched across approximately 6 hours and cost over 15 million shillings ($5,000). As per my instructions, mercifully adhered to, the following words were etched on my tombstone:

“I once came to this sod, I changed lives, I crossed over”

On a personal note, from somewhere closer than we all know, thank you friends for responding swiftly and promptly to my demise. Thank you for the beautiful casket in which I now lie permanently. Thank you for the wreaths, especially those made with roses, they smelled heavenly. Thank you for the time, for the money and for all the other resources you invested in the last, still moments of my colorful life here on earth. Thank you for loving me generously in death.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I could have used some of those flowers while I still breathed. I could have received countless gifts from all the money spent to make sure that my dust returned to the ground whence it came. The whole journey of my farewell consumed innumerable resources and over 7,000 man-hours, nearly a year’s worth of time. This is time we could have spent together celebrating life, not death. Coffee, laughter, travel, cuddles, hugs, innovation, encouragement; serious stuff and silly stuff, the entire gamut of life.

In death, no matter how ostentatious, regardless how prompt, they were all meaningless, cold and lifeless, a chasing after the wind. Ergo, I do not give a rat’s behind what you do for me when my breath has deserted me.

Be prompt in death by all means, but do not forget to be urgent in life. Do life with me while I still have life.

I could have gone on but the cock has crowed faintly in the distance and of necessity, I must extricate myself from the cold, stiff clutches of the Grim Reaper..