Whenever I travel by plane or go on a motorcycle ride, I always think if this might be my last day. I imagine a crash. I imagine hitting a car head on if on a motorcycle. I wonder if death will be instantaneous. I wonder how I will die.
I do not fear death. But I do feel sad for my youngest son if I should pass away suddenly. He has just started his teen-age years. The older two will be better equipped to handle such an event. To the best that I can, I have arranged my documents and I have written down a list of secret places and passwords.
I am always thankful if a trip passes uneventfully. I thank god, sometimes I thank the fates that I have survived another week, another month, another year. The rare times I pray, I only pray to give me one more year with my family. Just until they are somewhat ready for my passing.
I don’t think it’s morbid. I talk to the boys about what would happen if I should die. They know I want to be cremated. They know I don’t particularly care what kind of service to have during my wake and my inurnment. After all I don’t believe in heaven so it shouldn’t matter what kind of religious service they hold. They also know I don’t want white flowers. Pink, orange, peach, lavender – I want those. And if they must because society might not look at them kindly, then they can wear white but only for the duration of the wake. But I would rather they don’t.
Again a paradox, the constant thought of dying makes me appreciate life more. Life should be lived without regrets. I have found the middle ground to materialism and detachment. I am satisfied at how my life has been lived. Sometimes there is a wish for more but it is precisely that tension that keeps life interesting.
And life has been interesting. I have no complaints.