I just thought of something every person on the planet shares – our mortality. It’s unavoidable. But that’s not a diagnosis is it… Hm.
I don’t know where this thought came from, but I was laying in bed this morning and this – situation – blew into my mind (this is totally non-fiction): I have a young child, say between six and ten years old, and she or he has just been diagnosed with a terminal illness. Do I tell my kid they’re going to die? How do I say it when they’re so young? They don’t even fully grasp what death means at such a young age. Bless.
Of course the child is going to ask questions. Like – What is death?
“Well, Sweetheart, it’ll be like going to sleep and not waking up.” This is the most common go to explanation – right? It makes sense AND it’s kind.
“Will I dream?” The child asks.
“I don’t know. But probably better than a dream. It’ll be fun and happy, and it will be like you’re really there.” And then we dive into all the people and animals that went before the child who the child will (hopefully) run into.
Now – this can’t be a lie we’re telling because we’ve clearly not died ourselves. It’s just a hope. A wish. Something to say that will comfort both the child and ourselves.
I couldn’t keep something like that from my kid. And I’m a parent. There’s something very wrong with keeping information this monumental from the very person it’s going to happen to.
Anyway – So, then I remembered that I’m a lot closer to the exit door of my own life than the entrance. I’ve gotta get busy being the best me I can muster.
Time has run short…