Recently I read some fiction in which a terribly abused character regarded death as a dark, quiet room. She doesn't die during the story, and in fact her life turns around in a huge way shortly after that. The imagery of death as she viewed it was what stayed with me. In a bright, loud world where life is perpetually coming at you (and constantly subjecting you to some form of abuse) death as a dark, quiet room seems quite appealing. Being done with all these exhausting people seems very peaceful. All the pain stops. You're finally alone (and I do understand that longing more than I realized I would.)
As a writer I've thought of death in a zillion ways, probably, but I keep coming back to crossing a finish line. The end of a life is that kind of end -- we're finished with this whole beautiful, disastrous mess of existence. I don't want to debate what happens after death, because we'll never know until after we die, assuming consciousness survives. Also, I respect the beliefs of others, no matter how ludicrous they sound to me, because who knows who is right about it? What I believe in is that living our lives in the way we want is the thing we can do. Every day we live is a new beginning, too.
I have never been more aware of the end than I am now, I think. I'm taking multiple meds now and walk miles everyday because my body is failing, and I know ultimately I'm going to lose this battle. Everyone does. That doesn't mean I stop fighting for every day I can live. I am not giving up as I approach the finish line because I have so much more I want to do. I'm not hurrying toward the end, either, but I've made peace with it. I have done more with my life than anyone else believed I could, and that is the kind of satisfaction no one can take from you, no matter how much they want to.
I don't count on being remembered or even mourned. What I know is that despite everything the world threw at me, I did not waste my time here. I dared not only to dream, but to pursue my dream. It took a lot of effort, faith in myself, and hard work, and defying everyone who said I couldn't do it -- which was basically everyone in my life -- but in the end I made that dream come true. That also allowed me to work my dream job for the next 28 years (or more, I hope!)
In the end, what matters is what matters to you. For me, this unhappy life of mine didn't stop me from making my own happiness and turning my dream into reality. Even if I never had accomplished what I did, it was the daring to chase my dream that counted even more than making it real. At the end, I think that is the best way to cross that finish line: valiant.
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