Death and all his friends

MAN IS UNWILLING to consider the subject of death. The shroud, the mattock and the grave, he labors to keep continually out of sight. He would live here always if he could; and since he cannot, he at least will put away every emblem of death as far as possible from his sight. Perhaps there is no subject so important, which is so little thought of. Our common proverb that we use is just the expression of our thoughts, "We must live." But if we were wiser we should alter it and say, "We must die." Necessity for life there is not; life is a prolonged miracle. Necessity for death there certainly is, it is the end of all things. Oh that the living would lay it to heart!  Charles Spurgeon

I missed a memorial service today.

I didn't find out about it until it was too late to plan to attend.

He was roughly my age.

He had a wife, kids, friends.

All the things a man hopes for in life.

We worked together a few years ago.  He even took my position when I left, only to leave a short while later because he was so very unused to being bound by an employer's hours.  We commiserated about the struggles of work, family - life in general; but I remember him as looking at life in the term Spurgeon used above - "a prolonged miracle" - he just didn't use those exact words.

It sounds sad to say someone died.  

It sounds hopeless and vapid and despairing.

But it's not. 

It's just the beginning.

Every time I hear of a funeral or memorial service or of someone's death, I start thinking about planning my own post-life-on-this-earth party.  

The songs I enjoy now that will hopefully sing of who I have been and what I have enjoyed and treasured and whom I have loved.

The words I hope to leave with those I love so dearly.

The words of Hope that are far beyond any words I could ever speak and that continue to live with those whose Love and Life endures.

That was is his Love.  One of the other things we shared besides friendship and industry and a love for life.  

The only one that really matters.