on dying

My mother and my aunt just got the results of their lab tests late afternoon two days ago. And such grim news they had for us: my mother had a 3-millimeter layer of soft plaque that had accumulated for years, and is at high risk for coronary thrombosis. She had, according to the doctor's analysis, 59-year old arteries.

My aunt, thankfully, had no buildup of calcified cholesterol on hers, but, had blood vessels 9 years older than my mother's. Considering that they're only halfway through their forties, this was baaad. Worse, both of them have diabetes -- my aunt's been injecting herself insulin even before Faith, my cousin, was born.

You might expect to see me utterly nervous, wringing my hands every minute, worrying myself to tears because of the poor health my loved ones have. But no, I am quite far from doing such things. Here's a short piece I wrote some time ago, which can perhaps explain my sentiments about such unfortunate events.

There are so many things in this world -- most of all, our lifespan -- that are simply not ours to control. And that's why people are so afraid of death. It's an impregnable adversary that looms on the horizon for every one of us. It comes like a thief in the night, when we are most unprepared for it. We sit helplessly, looking at it permanently frustrating the plans we had for ourselves. We wonder, we wonder what awaits a departed loved one after he breathes his last. And it seems that we'll never know.

We are grass. Like those ephemeral flowers that get easily blown by the wind, we are here today, and gone tomorrow. Like everything else in this world, we are temporary. We often paint grand and illusory pictures of our own lives, trying to escape the gripping fact that we will be compost a few decades from now. And in vain we try to satisfy ourselves with beach front property, million dollar bank accounts and promiscuous relationships. The truth is, nothing in this world ever will.

But God can. The eternal, undying God, who by His word created the Universe, the glorious and majestic God, unbound by time and space, who declares the ancient things past and things that are to come, He can satisfy our weary souls. He can.

I do not know when that fateful day of their passing will fall. Neither do I know mine. But, I know that when it comes, whether by an Amazon native's arrow, or through a grisly car accident, He will take me to Himself with open arms, and I will spend eternities enjoying and worshiping Him. I do hope to see them there, my mother and my aunt. And you too, dear reader.