Before I die, I will visit Paris and Rome and the other fine places of Europe. I will tell that one, special woman I love her. I will caress the soft air with my thoughtful attention. And I will open my heart to the gates of truth and kindness. But I may never witness a man, so distraught in his own thinking, that he decides to thread a noose upon the barren branches of an oak and say, “Life is messy.”
What is it about the moments in life that always seem to shroud me with the darkest of veils? That always seems to give way to perception woven with the fabric of both baptismal garments and mortuary linens? I do not know. But I do know that when a man whispers into your ear “Life is messy” there isn’t much you can do to change his mind. All you can do is watch him dangle and die.
I often ask myself, “What about my parents?” What could they have done other than watch me dangle and die? They provided all the help in the world. They tried everything to get me off of drugs, yet, they were helpless. I had already made the decision. I had already imposed that suicide upon myself, rendering me helpless by nature.
So I pose the question: What about life? Yes, the aforementioned are a few of the things I would most enjoy before I die, but there has got to be more. More than being just an aborted baby drowning in the embryonic fluids of life.
For me, it was finding Christ. After all, what is the point in living a sober life just so I can go to my own funeral and say, “I had 20 years clean, but I didn’t have eternal life.”