The Right Time to Die

Just a month or so after we buried my Aunt Florence, my dad's oldest brother, my Uncle Ed, died. I never really connected with him, though he was a good man, and so didn't get out to his funeral in Colorado Springs. With these deaths, and the anniversary of Maria's funeral fast approaching, dying has been on my mind.

If given my first preference, I'd die of a heart attack in my sleep at 84 years of age, but I'm rarely given my first preference. However, what I'd really like to do is die at the right time of the year.

The right time of year to die is in the dark of winter. It's cold, it's quiet and it's dark, and I can picture myself closing my eyes for the last time, spiraling down in the darkness to join the trees and flowers in peaceful sleep. All is well, says the quiet of winter. Sleep, my child, rest peacefully. You have done your work well, and your work is done.

The right time of year to die is in the midst of spring's transformation. The world is shedding its mantle of gray and brown, and taking on a new cloak of green and delicate blues and purples. The birds return with their morning songs, welcoming the new day and the returning warmth. It's the perfect time of year to transform oneself, and I can picture myself shedding my mantle of worn and tired flesh, and taking on a new cloak of whatever it is that will be. Rise up, my child. Rise and join in singing a new verse of the song of Life.

The right time of year to die is in the heat of summertime. It's hot and the sun shines fiercely in the vivid blue sky. I can picture myself, worn and tired, leaving behind death's chill to bask in the warmth of Love. Come, my child, rest in the arms of the Universe who has loved you all along.

The right time of year to die is in the blazing glory of the colors of fall. The days are cool and the trees herald winter's sleep by letting go of their green garments and revealing the bright reds and oranges and yellows beneath. I can picture myself, letting go of all I've known to see what was there all along, but hidden from my eyes. Awake, my child, and see what comes after all you've known so far.

Yes, if it's at all possible it could be arranged, when it comes my time to die, I'd like to die at the right time of year.