I've been thinking about death a lot lately.
Not by choice, mind you. It just seems to be popping up everywhere. Family members, movies, TV, the news, books. Someone dies and I think about it. In fact, three famous personalities- Lemmy Kilmister, David Bowie, and Alan Rickman (all who were the same age as my dad, coincidentally) died in the past week or so.
As a believer in Jesus Christ- who was able to look Death in the eyes and overcome it- Death has an interesting role to play for me. It's not the end of everything.
Even so, losing someone you love is always sad. Being afraid to lose someone you love is even worse, as you relive it over and over again in anticipation. We meditate on the possibility dying, and in doing so, I think we tend to overlook the significance of the actual life that did (or could) end.
Death is significant, but only because it marks the end of something that was significant.
In other words: If life wasn't important, death wouldn't matter. Our modern funerals are known for celebrating the departed's life; remembering the good memories and things associated with it.
How hard would it be for us to celebrate this while people are still alive? Why is it that we mourn with regret, only when it's too late? What would it look like if we celebrated the lives of our loved ones every day?
Sometimes life just clips along, and we merrily go through it, paying no mind to anything. We're the happy center of our own universe, and nothing matters except what's immediately in front of us.
And then there are days where you come face to face with the reaper, and you realize you're just a single breath away from eternity.
This past week, a guy at work died of cancer. He only knew about it 2 months before he succumbed to it. I've known other people who were diagnosed with and died of cancer within 2 weeks. Two Weeks.
So what's the point of it all, if we're just dust? If we're such insignificant specks in the flotsam of the universe, why do we even bother?