If I Should Die Before I Wake

My guess is that most people don't climb into bed each night and think "I wonder if I'll die while I'm sleeping tonight." I'd guess, too, that most people don't wake up and have their first thought of the day be "I wonder if today will my last day to live?" I am convinced that the thing we humans most take for granted is life itself. Rather than appreciating the gift of every single breath we take, every precious moment we have with those we love, every additional night we do indeed not die before we wake, we believe we will always have more time. More breaths. More moments. More nights. More days. More time.

In case you're newer to reading my blog, The Tree House officially turned 10 on February 19, 2018. A special thank you to those of you who messaged to remind me of the significance of reaching that particular milestone, even though my writing has waned greatly over the last year. Those of you who've been following my journey for a while may remember the post "Easier to Die" from January 1, 2013, without question the most difficult post I've written throughout those 10 years. In that post, I came clean about a couple of sort of big things in my life ... at least they're big to me anyway ... one of them being that I had come within minutes of committing suicide back in 2012. I had no idea at the time just how much that one post would change not only my life, but the lives of so many others as well.

I've learned many things in the five plus years since I first openly talked about my battle with depression and my plan to take my own life, not the least of which is that talking about death makes a lot of people very uncomfortable. At first I thought the uneasy feeling I sensed from others when I talked about reaching the point where I no longer wanted to live was because of my inclusion of the "s" word ... suicide. It didn't take me long, however, to understand that the feeling wasn't as much about me talking about my desire to end my life as it was about me talking about death in general. I quickly learned that we humans don't want to talk about death, be it our own or someone else's ... we don't want to talk about it and we really don't want to listen to anyone who does. And yet, despite our avoidance and our belief that we will always have more time ... more breaths, more moments, more nights, more days, more time ... death is inevitable for each one of us. 

Today my children and I attended a celebration of life service for a man who was one of the first people we met when we moved to Kansas City. A man who, along with his wife and two daughters, became our first real friends in a city where we knew no one. A man who welcomed us into his home when our house caught fire only two weeks after we moved in. A man who taught us the word "gadzooks" and who had an infectious laugh and an ever-present smile. A man who stood solidly behind me and my children as my marriage disintegrated. A man who treated us as family. A man who included us. A man who had a kind and gentle and compassionate heart for the marginalized, the weak, the lonely and the discarded people of the world. A man whose life was honored today by the people he impacted so deeply during his short 63 years on earth. A man who left behind a legacy of love ... love for God, love for his family, love for his friends, love for the people he worked with and love for people around the world.

I hugged Brad and Meghann and Barrett a little more tightly when they left to head back to their homes today, and my time on Skype with Matt and his family was a little longer and even more precious to me than usual. And as I end this day and ready myself for bed, one thought pulses through my mind ... if I should die before I wake, I hope and pray the legacy I leave behind will be one of love. A legacy of a love that isn't just heard in the words I say, but one that is seen ... one that is felt ... one that is proven in the life I live.