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Death becomes your neighbor before it takes you away.
Death knows not from age, sex, race, or origin. Nor from goodness or badness. Nor from sentient or not. Death sets in at its own pace, striking suddenly or taking its time.
Death is a quiet neighbor who has no visitors, and who visits you but once. Sometimes you welcome a visit when life is no longer bearable, and death becomes mercy. Sometimes you fight to keep it from coming into your home, to eke out more time alive. But death always wins because no one lives forever.
Does death have a purpose? Yes, but not for itself. Rather, it serves to clear the way for those who will succeed us.
How old is death? That seems unfathomable. There are no living witnesses to its birth. Does it have an earthly form, a clue to its ceaselessness, its resolve, or its choice of means? What difference does any of that make?
Who rules? Death or life? They have the same longevity and the same ineffability. This question counts because its answer shapes our every moment, every day. Though you might not notice until life shines through, which will happen almost all the time, no matter what.
Can you prepare for its visit? Depends, because that happens in stages: not allowing the thought of it for you, only for others; then its shadow starts to appear, as it visits those near to you; then there is the chance to prepare. It’s not too late. Only repent, metanoia in Greek at the time of Christ, when it means to turn around, to change, not lash yourself.
If you have the opportunity to build a loving life with others and to make contributions that leave the world a tad better than it was before and you grab those ethereal moments and don't let go, then in an elemental way, you are preparing. When a careful self-inspection, faults notwithstanding, reveals there no longer is a you, but rather solely those whose life you have endowed, then you are prepared.
Not that you have a clue of what’s to come, how, or when. But you likely can stay above the fracas because you are already gone, embodied in those you served. That’s when there is nowhere for death to visit; there’s no longer a you who is fearful of death’s power and virulence.
Maybe some saints make it to the mountaintop and are honored, not that they conceivably would want to be so treated. For us mortals, however, it’s the steps we have taken and our gifts freely given, not the altitude we achieve.
So much good accrues for those who head to the light, with tiny steps, day after day. You need not be rich to enrich. But you can be prepared.
