We aren’t born pretty and we certainly don’t die pretty – at least, for the most part. We enter a squalling wrinkled thing, covered in our own birth fluids and as fragile and unique as a snowflake. When we leave, many of us fight. We hang on to life with an iron grip, gasping at the air as if there could never be enough of it. We shake in pain, clutch at our humanity, stare upwards looking for a sign of relief and release, yet we can’t find it.
No, don’t close my eyes, they may never open again. Let me see the sky – is it still that perfect blue? Where is the sky? I need to see the world for a little while longer.
I wonder, often, why God or any other higher force that one may believe in and might exist – simply doesn’t take pity on us and bring us on home….instead of watching some of us suffer so.
Then something occurred to me. Maybe they try and we fight it. Perhaps our will can be so strong that even though the door is open to us…we resist. When it’s our time, I truly believe it will happen no matter what, yet some will choose to cling to our earthly body, not matter how worn out and sick it is.
I believe we do it because it’s all we know and we are afraid. We are afraid to let go. I think that when we do, when we let go our grip of an old or sick or broken body, when we finally see that there is something else, only then, are we ready to go home. Our real home.