When pooch passed away last year, I took comfort in knowing that she would be waiting for me by the Rainbow Bridge. I trusted her to remember me. Isn’t that strange how even without having any proof of this, I would choose to believe that my little pooch is awaiting me somewhere?
I was asked recently why, if there is a God, does he/she/it choose to make us suffer before we die? I’m not talking about accidental, sudden death, but the type of death where we see our loved ones go through, i.e. long, slow and suffering. Anyone who has seen someone battling cancer will know what I’m talking about. At the time I answered that we suffer in order to appreciate the good days. I’ve been thinking about this, I even asked my meditation teacher about it. The hardships make us appreciate the good times even more. But there must be something else also.
I do believe that our passage here is only a short pit stop during a long voyage. Yeah, that’s it. We are here only for a brief moment, some shorter than others. How we spend this time is up to us. I believe in living each day as if it was my last, or at least trying to. I don’t want to be on my deathbed wishing I’d done more. I know many people who never talk about death; it’s just something they don’t talk about. Some it’s out of fear, others out of superstition, or just plain discomfort. Why are we here? What is the point of all this? Not many of us will truly leave a mark on this world; there was only one Napoleon or Caesar so to think that we will make a difference is pretty cocky.
When people retire from work, it doesn’t take that long that we forget about them. I’ve seen this also when somebody changes job, or move somewhere. Oh, we always say: “It won’t be the same without you around” or “Let’s keep in touch” or “Don’t forget about us”, but that’s the first thing we do. We forget.
Ever wonder how long it will take people to forget you? I do. Even if I do think I am unforgettable (ha!), I do know that I will be forgotten, no matter how much I do. We forget. Whenever I think of relatives that passed away many years ago, I can’t help but notice that their features are not as sharp as they once were. Of course I have pictures to refresh my memory, but it’s not the same. Same thing for friends I haven’t seen in many years. Time does leave its marks on us, and we change, thus affecting the way we look. That is one change that isn’t always for the best.
No matter how good, kind, or honest we try to be, I can’t help to wonder if you will remember me after I die?
Oh, and my teacher says that we suffer in order to get close to God and to welcome him/her/it in our lives…