Ruminations

Life.
What is it?
These mobile hunks of clay meandering around--searching.
Searching for jobs...food...shelter...luxury...pleasure...meaning.
But what is it really?
Why does it matter?
How can it be that one moment, our clay bodies are mobile and the next, they are still and lifeless.
What do we do with that? Those of us that are left here?
We continue to dream about the body that used to walk and talk and live among us.
We literally see that body in our dreams.
But isn't it just a body?
There must be more than just a body.
We hear about the soul.
What is the soul really?
What is a person's spirit?

Personality...it's so unique.

Perhaps that's what we mourn the most. That we will never know another person who would respond to us the way that one person did...who would understand our inside jokes...who would have the same mannerisms...who would hold the same routines.

So what's left?
What is left with us after death?

Memories.

But don't memories fade?
Can't our mind conjure up falsehoods overtime?
How to keep memories pure?
Why can't I make a movie of what I see in my mind right this very instant so that I can ensure that it will never get diluted by the junk of this life that occupies more and more of my mindspace as each day passes?

Life...
It comes and it goes.
It ebbs and it flows.

Even with the belief of heaven...death isn't any easier to deal with. But I hear it should be.
But it's not.
Why is it not?
Does that negate my christian-ness?

I can only wrap my mind around what happens here on earth.
Heaven is just too much.
The after life is just too much.
What happens here after we lose a loved one?
What is it exactly that we are sad about?

Part of me clings to the body...the peaceful face I've known all my life, the familiar shadow and silhouette, the soothing sound of a voice. Those things can never be replicated.

That's all I know.

It's hard.

Sometimes when we've dreaded something happening for so long we create a monster in our minds that's much bigger than perhaps it should be.

I do that with death.

Hasn't life gone on since my dad left me here half-orphaned?

Haven't I continued to smile and laugh and play?

Haven't I still found joy in things both large and small?

The sun still rises. The sun still sets. With no regard to the presence or absence of my father.

A harsh reality.

A humbling truth.

This world isn't about me. Or my dad. Or any other beloved family member of mine--even if they are the very ones that hung the moon in my childhood sky.

Life is relentless. Time never gives us a break.

What are we going to do with it?

My soul can only whisper one word: abide.