Death
I don't know if anyone else has tried writing something and the words on the page don't line up with the words on the brain.
I've had a lot of thoughts rolling that I'm trying to make sense of. Usually a pen or a keyboard helps breed clarity. Today it seems to be mostly doubt and confusion. Most of what's to follow was written in pieces and bursts. Almost fitfully. Not from a stress standpoint, not from a frantic place. But from a place of uncertainty and wondering. Once I get everything worked out perhaps it will make more sense.
Now given titles are fairly apparent and readily available I think the subject of death is not a mystery topic today.
Now I'm not writing this because it's Halloween time and my thoughts have turned to the Gothic and macabre. Nor am I writing this because I'm feeling my own impending doom. And I'm not writing this for attention. No I'm writing this because this is part of my life once again. Death. It's been an exercise in working through my own thoughts and ideas.
I remember my first time truly thinking about mortality. It was my Great-Great Aunt Jessie's funeral. I loved her. Still do to this day. Her smile and cheer were a light to a young kid like me. I remember sitting in that chapel at her funeral, listening to a speaker, kinda bored to be honest. There was a sudden realization that her being gone meant she wasn't coming back. It wasn't an y abstract feeling anymore. At age 7 I made the connection of what death means. What it really meant. I broke a little bit. But I bounced, I was 7. That's what kids do.
I was 14 years old when I was really confronted with it again. I was at Camp Meriwether as a boy scout, nursing a swollen sprained ankle, and relishing completing all the shooting merit badges. It was the last night. One of the camp counselors I admired attempted to light a black powder cannon. It didn't go off. Later as we were sitting down to dine, some of us watched them messing with the cannon. It went off and he was blown off a rise down onto the beach out of sight. He left the beach breathing but brain dead. He was pronounced a few days later. It was the first time I really recognized it could happen to someone my age, someone like me or slightly older. It's stuck with me.
I spent the rest of my teens on water. As much as possible. Learning all of the ways to rescue somebody. I was good at it too. Lifeguard skills and first aid came easy but were abstract in a way. Death was never really supposed to happen. I never encountered any major traumas, drownings, or injuries. What happened earlier in my teens seemed like a faraway memory later in life.
When I entered the military I enlisted as a medic. Very purposefully. I wanted to do medicine. I wanted to do emergency medicine. The Army seemed like a good fit. In a lot of ways it was. I learned how to keep death at bay. While simultaneously recognizing the inability to save everyone. To learn how to properly triage and allocate resources. But I also learned field skills, clinic skills to keep someone alive. To stop bleeding and keep them breathing if nothing else. That mentality lasted the duration of my service.
Now that's changed. But I'm working in a rehab and hospice center. Most of my time on the hospice side. Almost all as of late. Now those skills I've been honing most if not all of my adult life haven't changed, they haven't even really degraded. But the use of those skills has. It's taken some getting used too. It's so different to have death be omnipresent, yet expected. It's taken some time to gain a mentality where letting people go can be a priority.
I've personally watched enough people go, pass on, at this time in my life I can honest say it's a transition. There is a piece of that person, call it what you want, leaving. I personally see their soul leaving, moving on. Now it would be remiss of me not to say that my faith, it's teachings, my experience with it, have influenced that thought process. It's an inherent part of how I view and deal with death. The thought of and faith in something better after this life sustain me. That's just the way it is.
I've thought constantly about how much doctrine to mention when I look at these deeper ideas and their effect on me. I'm not trying to beat people over the head with my faith and knowledge of doctrine. Some days I'm desperate to share the gospel that's brought be joy and piece, other days I'm just trying to survive.
I think today is the latter. There's a lot on my plate these days. I'm thinking about people I miss, people I've lost. Those thoughts combined with the stresses of life can be overwhelming. Or they can just cause reflection. I guess that's where I'm at. Melancholic reflection.
You see while I'm at work watching and helping people live their daily lives awaiting their time, I'm alright. But when I think about people I've lost it's harder. It's not too bad when thoughts turn to my grandparent's or aunts and uncles. Some of those were fairly expected. It's not even that bad when I look at peers who lost their lives to accidents. Those sting more, but they aren't the ones that hurt the most.
Suicide. That's the one I stay awake at night thinking about. I mean that seriously. Not my own but others. Nothing cuts harder. I struggle to understand the willpower it takes overpower your desire for life. The innate physiological reactions. It's something powerful, incredible,and frightening. I don't want to dwell overly long on it. But I had to address it. It’s the one aspect of this that scares me. Truly frightens me.
Throughout my life I've gained a healthy respect for death. I mourn when those go before us. I know one day at sometime it will be my day. I hope I'm ready. But I'm not actively seeking it. I'm living to the fullest while I can.
One day it will be my day. Not yet today. But there will be many more I know between now and that day. I hope I'm there for them and their loved ones 'til we meet again. Death may be the end of this life. It's only a transition to something new. Something better.
The hardest part of death is what it does to those of us left behind.
I've had a lot of thoughts rolling that I'm trying to make sense of. Usually a pen or a keyboard helps breed clarity. Today it seems to be mostly doubt and confusion. Most of what's to follow was written in pieces and bursts. Almost fitfully. Not from a stress standpoint, not from a frantic place. But from a place of uncertainty and wondering. Once I get everything worked out perhaps it will make more sense.
Now given titles are fairly apparent and readily available I think the subject of death is not a mystery topic today.
Now I'm not writing this because it's Halloween time and my thoughts have turned to the Gothic and macabre. Nor am I writing this because I'm feeling my own impending doom. And I'm not writing this for attention. No I'm writing this because this is part of my life once again. Death. It's been an exercise in working through my own thoughts and ideas.
I remember my first time truly thinking about mortality. It was my Great-Great Aunt Jessie's funeral. I loved her. Still do to this day. Her smile and cheer were a light to a young kid like me. I remember sitting in that chapel at her funeral, listening to a speaker, kinda bored to be honest. There was a sudden realization that her being gone meant she wasn't coming back. It wasn't an y abstract feeling anymore. At age 7 I made the connection of what death means. What it really meant. I broke a little bit. But I bounced, I was 7. That's what kids do.
I was 14 years old when I was really confronted with it again. I was at Camp Meriwether as a boy scout, nursing a swollen sprained ankle, and relishing completing all the shooting merit badges. It was the last night. One of the camp counselors I admired attempted to light a black powder cannon. It didn't go off. Later as we were sitting down to dine, some of us watched them messing with the cannon. It went off and he was blown off a rise down onto the beach out of sight. He left the beach breathing but brain dead. He was pronounced a few days later. It was the first time I really recognized it could happen to someone my age, someone like me or slightly older. It's stuck with me.
I spent the rest of my teens on water. As much as possible. Learning all of the ways to rescue somebody. I was good at it too. Lifeguard skills and first aid came easy but were abstract in a way. Death was never really supposed to happen. I never encountered any major traumas, drownings, or injuries. What happened earlier in my teens seemed like a faraway memory later in life.
When I entered the military I enlisted as a medic. Very purposefully. I wanted to do medicine. I wanted to do emergency medicine. The Army seemed like a good fit. In a lot of ways it was. I learned how to keep death at bay. While simultaneously recognizing the inability to save everyone. To learn how to properly triage and allocate resources. But I also learned field skills, clinic skills to keep someone alive. To stop bleeding and keep them breathing if nothing else. That mentality lasted the duration of my service.
Now that's changed. But I'm working in a rehab and hospice center. Most of my time on the hospice side. Almost all as of late. Now those skills I've been honing most if not all of my adult life haven't changed, they haven't even really degraded. But the use of those skills has. It's taken some getting used too. It's so different to have death be omnipresent, yet expected. It's taken some time to gain a mentality where letting people go can be a priority.
I've personally watched enough people go, pass on, at this time in my life I can honest say it's a transition. There is a piece of that person, call it what you want, leaving. I personally see their soul leaving, moving on. Now it would be remiss of me not to say that my faith, it's teachings, my experience with it, have influenced that thought process. It's an inherent part of how I view and deal with death. The thought of and faith in something better after this life sustain me. That's just the way it is.
I've thought constantly about how much doctrine to mention when I look at these deeper ideas and their effect on me. I'm not trying to beat people over the head with my faith and knowledge of doctrine. Some days I'm desperate to share the gospel that's brought be joy and piece, other days I'm just trying to survive.
I think today is the latter. There's a lot on my plate these days. I'm thinking about people I miss, people I've lost. Those thoughts combined with the stresses of life can be overwhelming. Or they can just cause reflection. I guess that's where I'm at. Melancholic reflection.
You see while I'm at work watching and helping people live their daily lives awaiting their time, I'm alright. But when I think about people I've lost it's harder. It's not too bad when thoughts turn to my grandparent's or aunts and uncles. Some of those were fairly expected. It's not even that bad when I look at peers who lost their lives to accidents. Those sting more, but they aren't the ones that hurt the most.
Suicide. That's the one I stay awake at night thinking about. I mean that seriously. Not my own but others. Nothing cuts harder. I struggle to understand the willpower it takes overpower your desire for life. The innate physiological reactions. It's something powerful, incredible,and frightening. I don't want to dwell overly long on it. But I had to address it. It’s the one aspect of this that scares me. Truly frightens me.
Throughout my life I've gained a healthy respect for death. I mourn when those go before us. I know one day at sometime it will be my day. I hope I'm ready. But I'm not actively seeking it. I'm living to the fullest while I can.
One day it will be my day. Not yet today. But there will be many more I know between now and that day. I hope I'm there for them and their loved ones 'til we meet again. Death may be the end of this life. It's only a transition to something new. Something better.
The hardest part of death is what it does to those of us left behind.
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