The Inevitable March of Time
They say you can’t outrun time, and I’m not lacing up to try.
These days, knocking on the late 50s’ door, I’ve noticed the invites piling up—not parties or pints, but funerals. More names I know turning into dates on stones—mates, kin, faces from the past.
It’s not morbid, just math—life spins, years stack, and the crowd thins out. I’m overthinking it anyway—always have—keeps my mind restless instead of settling into complacency.
When Mortality Becomes a Regular Visitor
What started as occasional notices—a card in the mail, an unexpected call—has evolved into a steadier rhythm.
Every year now, another goodbye. My good friend just six months ago, too! Yesterday, I spotted a hearse and caught myself calculating—how many more farewells before it’s my turn? Not from a place of gloom, just facing reality.
Each departure serves as a gentle reminder: live fully in your days, pursue what truly matters. I’ve gradually shed the unnecessary baggage—streamlined life to what genuinely matters. Funerals don’t scream regret—they whisper encouragement to savor what remains.
The Art of Intentional Unburdening
This simplification isn’t some virtuous achievement—it’s practical survival.
That latest smartphone? Traded for something basic—my sleep improved without the constant notifications. Ancient grudges? Released them to fade away—creating a lighter emotional load.
Every gravestone I pass seems to offer the same wisdom: we don’t carry excess baggage to our final destination.
I’m not lecturing—your journey, your choices—but lately I’ve been contemplating what’s truly worth keeping, and it’s significantly less than I once believed.
What’s the one possession you would willingly release if you knew your final day approached?
The Mystery Beyond Our Last Breath
All these endings provoke deeper wonderings—where do our loved ones go?
My mother exists now in a care home, dementia gradually claiming her essence bit by bit—does she perceive us, or something entirely different?
I’ve explored countless near-death experiences—people who’ve momentarily crossed death’s threshold only to return with accounts of profound peace, radiant light, something transcending our physical world. It makes you wonder—perhaps those dates etched in stone don’t represent the ultimate conclusion.
I claim no expertise, just a man curiously exploring what might await us all.
Finding Sacred Anchors
Faith has quietly entered my life—late to embrace it perhaps, but I now regularly open the Bible.
Contemplating those ancient passages provides stability—verses about love, loss, and what endures when everything else diminishes.
Makes me hope for John 14:2: “In my Father’s house are many rooms… I go to prepare a place for you.”
I’m not attempting to convert anyone—fifty-six years have taught me that no one possesses all the answers—but scripture offers a quiet anchor when the funeral count continues rising.
What provides you stability when beloved names begin fading from memory?
Embracing Life’s Remaining Chapters
I refuse to surrender to melancholy—life remains vibrant, and I’m still pursuing my passions.
Those somber invitations accumulate, certainly, but they don’t drag me down—instead, they motivate me to live with greater intention.
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