On Death and Dying

I had a rough night last night. Out of nowhere, thoughts of death and dying descended upon my mind and heart and I couldn’t shake them.

It’s not so much that I’m worried about my own death and dying—other than not wanting to die alone and not wanting to leave behind a mess of stuff for unknown loved ones to sort through.

It’s that I worry about the death and dying of those I love. I think about the holes that will be left behind. I fear the silence. I worry about the gut punches that will land every time a memory appears. I think about going through stuff. I think about holidays. I think about traditions. And I am overwhelmed by sadness.

I don’t know when these thoughts began to appear and sit on my chest like bricks. It may have been when I did my unit of chaplaincy and death and dying became so very real to me. It may have been long before.

Regardless, on nights like last night, when the bricks are piled high, I’m thankful that I can look up and see the image of Jesus carrying a man who is exhausted, worn out, and left with nothing to give. I’m thankful to know that Jesus is holding me, letting me cry, hearing my fears, and reminding me to breathe.

Help us all to breathe today, God. Literally and figuratively. And for those taking their final breaths in these days, surround them with your light and love and be peace that passes understanding. Amen.