Sometimes, I allow my thoughts to wander, to stray if you
may. It’s weird where the thoughts of any single individual
would go if given free rein. The natural trend, for me at least is for my mind to hover on pleasant thoughts, daydreams even. The kind of life I want for myself, the kind of woman I’d probably end up entangled with for life, the kind of mini-me’s I’d likely produce, my mansion, cars, degrees, profession, you name it, I’ve thought it. Yes, even the lewd ones, even that evil thought that made the corners of your lips twitch. I’d spend time ensconced in such thoughts until I begin to live them for a few short moments. I’d hug my wife and kiss her forehead then kiss her again on the lips. A Y2K+X-compliant version of me would run out on a pair of legs that at best could be described as “not yet long”, screaming “Dada, dada, dada” at the top of his lungs. Mohammed, no Effiong, the
driver (I don’t think I’ll have a driver named Mohammed)
will then go to park my ride (one of those next gen anti-
gravity babies that run on water alone). I’d then piggy-back clint Junior (yep, picked out a name too) back into the house, blah, blah, blah. And the daydreams just continue.
At some point, however, my thoughts turn to gloomier
speculations, sinister possibilities and dark facts: diseases,
handicaps, accidents, death, desertification, world war, global warming, Armageddon, and all other horrible things that could happen to a man. On some deeply dark days, I have even spent time wondering about some aspects of
eschatology- hell, heaven and the afterlife. Funny enough,
the dark thought that holds my fancy the most, when dark
thoughts do, is death. Yeeeeeessss, death. Shocker huh? Good ol’ jovial kelvin thinks of death. Matter of fact, almost
everybody does. At least once or twice a week, death thoughts barge their way into our musings, crashing our emotional slumber party. For those unaccustomed to such violations of our psychological sanctuary, such thoughts leave a bitter after-taste, a sinking feeling, a stain and the next reaction is usually that of trying to wipe off the stain, to sweeten the taste and to remind us that we are alive now and that is all that matters. Unfortunately, the grim reaper derives as much pleasure from constantly reminding his would-be victims of his intentions as he does from fulfilling his intentions. He’s a big old bully, the kind that believes that because he has been dealt a bad hand (his fault by the way) everybody else has to eat the bread of sorrows with him. The only good thing about death besides the possibility of going to heaven afterwards (for those who so believe), is the fact that like all bullies, he is a big old coward. He scares everyone else but is himself scared poopless of those who harbor no fear of him whatsoever.
Anyway, enough about that mythical person-that scythe-
bearing, faceless, hooded, rag-wearing and introversive
skeleton. Let’s talk about DEATH, the transition. One often
wonders how it happens, especially when it can scarce be
described as sudden. Does the victim feel his spirit leaving
him, ascending like a soap bubble and finally disappearing in a flurry of lights and colours to reappear in eternity? Does he sense the end drawing near like a flood rushing towards him, unrelenting and finally washing over him, blocking out all hopes and thoughts of life on this side of eternity? Is there a moment when a man’s life flashes across his eyes and regret floods his being as he is forced to remember the things he could have done right? I watched a man die today. Elderly, with two heart surgeries under his belt, one could have hardly expected him to . I watched him struggle for air and I participated in the attempts to resuscitate him. All the time, I kept my eyes on his face. I watched his expression change from depression to pain, a fleeting expression of hope, then back to pain and finally…nothing. He neither screamed 'light! Light!!’ nor bellowed ‘firrrreeee!’ as many have been said to do while in their death throes. However, I wondered what infernal revelations he may have been forced to behold, or what pleasant hopes were renewed in him concerning the
eternal abode of his soul. Above all I wondered: “could I have changed his fate in eternity if I had told him about Jesus Christ?”