A Lonely Wonderful Walk

"You awaken from a deep sleep to find yourself in a dimly lit room. A large gathering of friends hover uneasily around you. A young man slouches against the wall picking at a hangnail. An older woman's eyes glisten as she peers longingly at your face. She is your favorite aunt and, as you look up, you take note of an embarrassing drip leaving her nose. Single file they shuffle up to you. Standing in a corner of the small room, your father embraces your mother, comforting her as she sobs quietly, but inconsolably. Her crying draws tears from the others around you. Wondering what your family and friends are doing, you mean to stand and ask them. Ineffectually you attempt to sit up. Your best friend from high school walks over slowly and you ask him for a bit of help. Instead, he kneels in front of you and water streams from his eyes, down his freshly shaven cheeks. As he grasps your hand he mumbles, "I just wish we could grab one more rum and coke, buddy." His voice quivers uneasily. "What in the hell is going on here?" you shout - but no one hears you. Surveying the room it becomes painfully obvious. Flower arrangements line the walls. Baby blue satin pillows embrace your limp limbs. You try to scream but your mouth is sewn shut. In fact, you come to realize that even your eyelids are glued together but somehow you can still see. As a younger cousin stares at your face you wonder if she can sense your eyes behind their curtains." The hospital room slowly comes back to me as I open my eyes and I realize that I've been daydreaming again. I'm not sure I can call this horror a daydream but I wasn't sleeping so that's where we'll leave it. The drugs spark many dark thoughts and, this afternoon, I find myself wondering who else might be at my funeral. I start to count how many friends would show up but I quickly lose track. I've never spoken to a soul about these horrific thoughts before. In life, some subjects go unspoken. Of all the subjects, death may be the most taboo of all. Yet, an essential component of life is the guarantee that someday we must die. It's just part of the deal. In fact, death has come to mean as much to me as life, if that's possible. It has taught me many lessons and given me many gifts. If you'll allow me, I'd like to share a story with you in the hopes that you may also learn something about the seldom-discussed place where life and death meet like the sea and sand. There is no beginning of one and end of the other - there is only the place where they meet. We skirt around issues of importance to discuss inconveniences of the weather and compliment each other's new shoes. Why start a book with a discussion of death you may ask. In truth, I'm not trying to explore what happens in death, as I'm no more an authority on the subject than anyone else. Instead, I'm hoping with share with you a precious secret about life. To see the end is, strangely enough, the beginning. Written in the same vein as Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom, 1997) and My Sister's Keeper (Jodi Picoult, 2004), this inspiring true story is written from the first person and is both raw and sensitive.