I am not afraid of death. I’m not, I promise. Just now I was thinking about death and dying. Not the morbid emo thoughts of death, but in-the-whole-scheme-of-things-death. I remember hearing once that death is just a long sleep, but I view it as quite the contrary. I think it will be a grand awakening and in some ways we will be more alive than ever. All these empty holes in our lives will be filled up once again. The pain of life will ebb and we will be made whole, left only to our joys. Obviously our eternities won’t be just sitting around singing praises to God, although I do like to sing. I personally can't wait until I die. It's a selfish thought, I know. I am not afraid to die, but what terrifies me is losing others to death.
My Father is getting old. His head has long been crowned with the snow of experience, contrasted by his ever red complexion. When I was younger, it was funny to think about how my Dad was as old as my friend's grandpa, but now it’s becoming something I don't like to talk about. To see how his body is wearing from time makes me dread April. Sometimes in dreams, I find myself on a clear blue day in the early summer. As I look up through the Oak leaves into the glory of day and lean up on the grey bark, I know that it’s him against my back. He has always been my anchor and my support. There were days when a three-lined email from him, cured my anxieties and propped me back up through the storm. He has lived up to his calling of a guide, a provider, and protector and I owe him everything for it. I’m going to really miss him when he leaves me.