And then death came knocking

No not me this time.

My  step dad is in the last stages of this experience called life. He is not kicking and screaming. He calmly states that now is the time to start wearing diapers.

Cancer came knocking at his door to. And this sure has been a fast ride. Only last week he could make it to the bathroom, this week he’s had the tv installed in the bedroom and am spending his time watching political debates and sport events while his system is shutting down.

Tiredness is riding him and my mother is caring for him around the clock.

Guilt is riding me a bit. I recognize my own fear. Now that death is close and the funeral planned how do I speak to him? Why is it that I think that I should ask more profound questions now? As if he has some deeper knowledge of the afterlife than the rest of us? Getting sneak previews of a reality that I can’t call mine yet.

There has been a lot of death this week.

Somebody I cared about in a foreign country was violently killed in a car accident last weekend. He had become a famous person since I last met him. Many people knew of him and he had affected many lives by him music and his approach to life.

And it struck me. Even though we were not close, him being a part of my life during a very special period when I worked abroad. One persons life resulted in a river of feelings. In the social media. National media. And while I am deeply saddened that a beautiful and talented man is now not walking among us, there is a certain feeling of gratitude.

Because when I think of him. I see what I ideally want people to think when I die. A person who lived his life. And I mean really lived. Somebody who, with all his human faults and quirks, followed his passion into the grave. Who came across as a person who laughed a lot. Who had a lot of fun. Somebody who, during the wake the other day  made people order that extra beer in county Cork in Ireland and say “To Taidgh! because he would have wanted us to”.