I used to think that death would be exciting. Not in a thrill-ride kind of way, with goose-bumps and anticipation. Not exhilaration, but startle. Like when the movie villain appears so suddenly that you jump out of your skin a little. It’s not unexpected; you know he’s there, hiding in the closet, but somehow it still takes you by surprise.
A death!
I know better now. In the last week I have discovered that sometimes death takes its time. It is a slow, meandering process, measured in the drips of an IV and the sound of time running out.
I wonder, how many breaths make up a lifetime? If I knew my number would it make each more precious? Or would the number stagger me, make me feel rich enough to waste them away?
A death.
Instead of the movie villain, in this instance, I think death was a welcome friend. It quietly crept into the room this morning and escorted Walt’s father on. He has set out on a new journey, equipped all the knowledge and wisdom he has gained in his nearly eighty years on earth.
He will be missed.
Hi. I’m Heidi.
I write books, like these:
And sometimes I cook.
Oh Heidi, I will be sending you all positive thoughts. I hope Newt isn’t too bad off, I am assuming it is the first really close death she’s experienced.
My dad died quickly, unexpectedly, I dropped him off, and never saw him again. There was no time to process it, to consider it, to get used at all to the idea. He was there, then he wasn’t. I don’t know which way is best/worst. Good and bad for each I suppose.
W’s dad is on a journey to somewhere new, somewhere he’s never been before.
Melissa
I’m sorry for your loss; it’s times like these that I am so grateful for the knowledge the Gospel brings.
Hugs,
Jeannetta
As you know, we recently suffered a loss, as well. I am sorry for yours.
Very nicely put. Thank you for sharing stories about him in the past. My heart and prayers will be with you and W.
Nicely put. Blessings to you and your family. Thinking of you all.
Sorry for your loss.