I'm Dying . . .

So are you, actually. We all are. I guess you could say that from the minute we take our first breath we begin the process that leads to our last breath. I'm not trying to sound morbid or anything, just realistic. Some of us are further along the path than others, but we're all traveling down the same path, heading in the same direction, toward the same destination. Well, sort of. Some of us will have a final destination (hopefully) that is more pleasant than others, but we all have to go through the same process to get there. Of course, the closer you get to that final terminal, the more keenly aware you become of its nearness and of all the things you probably forgot to pack.

My daughter has asked me several times to write about the humorous side of growing old, and I would really, really love to do that. I just can't find that side. It's like this heavy iron ball -- there are no sides to it. It's just there. And it only gets heavier. I keep turning it over expecting to see some cryptic message float up from somewhere inside, saying something like, "Outlook not so good." And now, at this point of my life when my strength seems to be diminishing, the ball is getting heavier. That's not to say that there is nothing good about growing older -- there is. Plenty. Good -- but not funny.

I guess what made me think of this was something my 4-year-old grandson said at the supper table. His mom was trying to convince him to eat some of his food to help his body grow strong. He wanted to know if marshmallows would make his body strong, and we had to explain that while marshmallows tasted good, they weren't really good for your body. He pondered that for a moment, and I know he was thinking, "Then why do you feed them to me?" He suddenly switched gears, as 4-year-olds do, and asked, "What are brains for?" which we tried to explain in preschool terminology. He wanted to know what happened if we didn't have a brain, and of course we told him that we would die. "Why?" he asked. "Because our brains make everything in our bodies work." We talked about our bodies coming back to life again when Jesus comes, etc. Then he asked his mom, "Is Grandma dying?" We exchanged glances and smiles, and his mom said, "She will someday."

Now, I didn't think a whole lot about this until I told my daughter about it and she put things into perspective. Does Onias think my body is dying because my brain isn't working very well? Dang. Is it that obvious?