If you have ever been to the local gas station at lunch time and there's a line. Typically there is someone ahead that's telling their life story to an audience that really doesn't care. It's like piped in music or being forced to listen to someone's cellphone conversation who is standing in line with you but somewhere else. (that's some major annoying; but that's another blog) Anyway, there's that feeling of relief when you realize or its obvious that you are next in line. We love being next in line!
I have five brothers and sisters and chances are that you do too. I had the privlidge of being the oldest. The reason I make that point is often in middle or low income families, things get passed down to whomever is next in line. I was looking at my father. He had three brothers and one sister. The issue: the older before him passed. The resulting thought spinoff: I guess I "theoretically" first to grave. I'm first in line; can't change the order of that. I think of those
standing in line behind me. In hopes of leaving a good example of "being in line," one's mind is forced to ponder.
Am I excited about being next in line to the coffin?
What freaks folks out about death? the fear/question of what's next?
Am I terrified of the unknown or the next episode?
Shall we go quietly into the night/dawn or shall be fall kicking and screaming, trying to stop the inevitable?
I watched my father at his big brother's funeral wondering what he was wondering. Yes, the sadness, but then there was more behind his eyes, behind his stares, behind his silence. I feel like the realization of the coming or the its my turn next realization. I could only image the years of memories that play back through ones mind trying to bet back to the present, littered with smiles and sobs. Isn't life the short narrow corridor to the great room after the doorfacing of death?