I’ve Got A Terminal Disease

So do you.

It is called life.

We all have a timeline, but try to avoid thinking about it. When the end gets near we fret for those left behind and regret all the things in the future we will miss. Family and friends and professionals will comfort our last days, but why do we not accept this reality?

We certainly don’t want to think about our children going out to play and not coming back. We certainly don’t want to present that possibility to them. Are we deceiving ourselves or avoiding the inevitable?

We have organizations and foundations and occupations that will comfort our last moments of being aware and breathing. We even have establishments that vulture the remains with soothing care as not to disturb the remainders.

We have numerous variations of faith in an unknown vision of what lays in the afterlife, but only one has a written record of that passage.

We have procedures and potions and studies and notions to avert the end, but the end will come.

We have sacred plots of land to store us with brief notification of who is under the ground and what their life meant for a causal passerby. For the others who were buried in mass unmarked graves or at sea or just too few remains to identify, they will just go into the history book as unknown.