Two minutes to midnight.
It’s two minutes to midnight. In two minutes, I will be dead.
What am I supposed to be thinking of? I’ve heard all about the ‘whole life flashing in front of your eyes’ thing. Let me try. But where do I begin? From earliest childhood memories? From the time I began to think of myself as an individual, probably some time in my middle teens? From first love? Maybe I should start backwards. Maybe I should start by thinking of the people who mean the most to me now. My new friends, who could be as true or as false as those I’ve had before. Or my parents, and my constantly changing dynamics with them. The girl I love, who could make tonight forever, or make it disappear by the dawn.
What about the tunnel with the white light at the end of it…do I try and experience that? Or does that only happen when you are sliding slowly towards the end, and hence not applicable in this case. But maybe that’s the best way. I mean, is there ever a ‘good’ way to die? I think so. But I also think I’d want some time to reflect on the good times, to make the passing easier. Two minutes aren’t enough.
If you knew you were going to die soon, how long would you want to live with that knowledge? Two, five, ten minutes? An hour? A day? A week? And would you have enough perspective to not allow yourself to hold on tighter during that period? If I were to be diagnosed with a fatal, incurable disease, I think about one week would do it. That would probably give me enough time to talk to most of the people I really want to talk to. I don’t know if I would or wouldn’t tell them this will be the last time we speak, but maybe I’d like it to be as normal an interaction as possible. I’d try and swallow my tendency for the melodramatic.
There will always be so much more to say, with too little time left. Always. To my father, to my mother, to the people who I think consider me a good friend, to loves past and present, to other people I respect, and to those I am grateful and indebted to. And I have a little less than a minute left. Maybe now I should say goodbye to me. It may sound strange to some, but it sounds perfectly logical to me at this time. Maybe I should make peace with the fact that there will be no more discovery, no more wonder, no more experience, no more love. The music’s over – turn out the light.
Maybe the best way to go is to be happy at the end. Reconciled. With the past, with no regrets. Maybe that’s the way we should live life in the first place, so that there isn’t so much to think of at the end, when the moment arrives. So that there aren’t any ‘I love you’s unsaid, no ‘Thank you’ s forgotten, no dues unpaid, no gratitude unexpressed.
My time is almost up. Quick and painless, please.
Maybe I ought to try and find God. I mean, just in case.
What am I supposed to be thinking of? I’ve heard all about the ‘whole life flashing in front of your eyes’ thing. Let me try. But where do I begin? From earliest childhood memories? From the time I began to think of myself as an individual, probably some time in my middle teens? From first love? Maybe I should start backwards. Maybe I should start by thinking of the people who mean the most to me now. My new friends, who could be as true or as false as those I’ve had before. Or my parents, and my constantly changing dynamics with them. The girl I love, who could make tonight forever, or make it disappear by the dawn.
What about the tunnel with the white light at the end of it…do I try and experience that? Or does that only happen when you are sliding slowly towards the end, and hence not applicable in this case. But maybe that’s the best way. I mean, is there ever a ‘good’ way to die? I think so. But I also think I’d want some time to reflect on the good times, to make the passing easier. Two minutes aren’t enough.
If you knew you were going to die soon, how long would you want to live with that knowledge? Two, five, ten minutes? An hour? A day? A week? And would you have enough perspective to not allow yourself to hold on tighter during that period? If I were to be diagnosed with a fatal, incurable disease, I think about one week would do it. That would probably give me enough time to talk to most of the people I really want to talk to. I don’t know if I would or wouldn’t tell them this will be the last time we speak, but maybe I’d like it to be as normal an interaction as possible. I’d try and swallow my tendency for the melodramatic.
There will always be so much more to say, with too little time left. Always. To my father, to my mother, to the people who I think consider me a good friend, to loves past and present, to other people I respect, and to those I am grateful and indebted to. And I have a little less than a minute left. Maybe now I should say goodbye to me. It may sound strange to some, but it sounds perfectly logical to me at this time. Maybe I should make peace with the fact that there will be no more discovery, no more wonder, no more experience, no more love. The music’s over – turn out the light.
Maybe the best way to go is to be happy at the end. Reconciled. With the past, with no regrets. Maybe that’s the way we should live life in the first place, so that there isn’t so much to think of at the end, when the moment arrives. So that there aren’t any ‘I love you’s unsaid, no ‘Thank you’ s forgotten, no dues unpaid, no gratitude unexpressed.
My time is almost up. Quick and painless, please.
Maybe I ought to try and find God. I mean, just in case.
spouted by Non-Sensei at 8/19/2004 11:13:00 PM
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