While on my way to Pahrump to spend time with my lovely french grandmother (who I call Bakum…She like’s chickens..don’t ask), a few morbid thoughts occurred to me. My mothers husband’s mom is dying from cancer. Why this thought popped into my mind – I do not know: I wondered what it is like to know that your body is giving up on you, that soon you wont be here. This thought somewhat frightens me. What is it like to know that you are spending your last days here on this earth (at least for this lifetime), breathing your last hundred breaths. Many say that death is peaceful, or at least the concept is peaceful – I don’t think I can agree. I would drive myself mad trying to figure out a way to calculate the exact time I was going to die (I erased “passed away”, because I feel no need to put this lightly) and make sure everyone in my family new my life story: my ‘legacy’ if you will. I would want to make sure that we all sat together to remember all of the great things that had happened in my life, speak of beautiful people we had all encountered together, and the funny memories we all shared.
This is the first time I have truly encountered death in my life, so it is hard for me to really put things lightly. I remember my first pet dying, and the way it made me feel was beyond devastating. It may be the fact that this woman adopted a man I consider to be Satan, or maybe it is because I didn’t know her too well that her death hasn’t struck me as devastating. She was a very sweet lady: I still just can’t feel the complete impact of her upcoming death. It hasn’t hit me yet.
One thing I know for sure when it comes time for me to leave this earth is this: I don’t want my loved one’s to see me suffer. I don’t want my children and grandchildren, my partner or parents (if these people are all alive) to have the last picture in their mind of me stick skinny, shaking in pain. I don’t want them to see me in pain.
I have decided that I want to document my life story. I came up with this when I saw that my Bakum was starting to write her life story in little books for all of the grandchildren. Its such a beautiful thing to see my Bakum reminiscing in how she met my grandfather, their first date and the vows they said on their wedding day. Her childhood was a beautiful one, filled with pretty white sheep and cows on the hillside of Germany. Even the stories that involve the Holocaust are so moving and wonderful. She is most definitely my idol. This woman has a beautiful beautiful soul and mind.
Another random morbid thought that occurred to me was: How does one go about finding their cigarette of choice? In my mind they all seem the same, a white wrapped death stick you breath on. But this couldn’t be right. When you go to a gas station, you see row after row of fancy wrapped packages containing cigarette’s. There had to be some difference.
YOU ALL SHOULD COMMENT AND TELL ME YOUR STORY ON FINDING YOUR CIGARETTE OF CHOICE! IT INTERESTS ME.