Shadow of the Grim Reaper

The Shadow of the Grim Reaper

    I am watching you. My shadow hangs over your life, waiting for the right time to meet with you again. Ha, I was cheated out of a chance to carry you home…but that has turned out for the best as I was given a chance to read the story of your life and even interact with it.

    Oh no, the shadow of the grim reaper… I fear this image of my own death… hovering over my decaying body and lingering sense of self.-worth. I have been watching you for so many years. Lost in a forest of discontent, sometimes you could only see your own fears…Of spiders, of Dracula, of the persistent opinion of your peers. Know that I have tried to shine joy on fractals of what often seemed like the chaos of existence.

    I am too young to die at 78, but the sciatica, the pain of losing friends…I check yes in the organ donor box as I renew my driver’s license, now required by law to be a yearly ritual. I yearn for my life to be a legacy for humanity. I am, however, afraid to even consider transfer of power to whatever is beyond this life. I ponder which song I want for my own funeral as I give treasured possessions to family and friends…I know that Ari, my 9-year-old granddaughter should have the Angel collection, Sam, of course will receive the Civil War musket, the collection of spoons has already been given to Savana. Ah, Ami she will get the antique silver ladle. My goal this year has been to gather and publish a book of poetry written over the past 25 years…to do something every day in 2023 toward this end. Howl at the Moon and Tell Outrageous Truth, illustrated by my graphic artist nephew, was published on May 2, 2023. A sequel is in the works. Travel abroad also makes my “before I kick the bucket list”.

I am impressed with your effort and progress. I did not expect this quality coming from the squealing, prune-faced, white shrouded infant promised me as my own to raise.

   “The Book“ has opened pages of reflection on many phases of my life, and I am surprised at how I celebrate a simple routine of gardening, quilting, and making slideshows for Sunday church. (Baking was never my thing and that is okay.) Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote in Ulysses, “I am a part of all that I have met.” I look back on every moment with love of the process. I laugh at my first day of school! My kindergarten teacher was not the witch from Hansel and Gretel, unbeknownst to my mother. The sandbox 4-year-old did not end up in a witch’s soup. The tears flow…My little dog, run over by that yellow truck, is remembered as my first dog-child. Skipper trained me up as a lover of all animals, even the human ones. My sloppy childhood script was first replaced by passable penmanship and now by a computer with spelling and grammar tools that complement my divergent thoughts. Oh, how I appreciate my computer, my Google passport to anything I might ever want to know.   

I see that lately you have been googling me, the grim reaper, and essays on after-life…You seem to be preparing for our final encounter. Your fear is warranted. I have a vote in where I will take you…

   I see patterns in what once seemed like random acts of living. There is new perspective for deaths of grandmother, my father, and friends. Long ago, I graduated from self-centered wondering if I’d be asked to the high school prom or if my hair, clothes, make-up were up to the standard of my society. Judgement of Mom and Dad’s parenting skills changed drastically when I held my burrito wrapped first child. Oh, the terror of new parenthood…I forgave my parents for all mistakes they had made. How would I ever teach my little girl to feed herself…much less to talk, walk, learn to read, lead a happy, productive life?? Oh, how I struggled to love and overprotect that first child…The next two were spared the parental helicopter. (By the way, that first child’s hand was exactly hinged to reach her mouth and they all were potty trained long before high school.) Divorce, loss of work, the disappointment of rejection…so devastating at the time have aligned perfectly in the mosaic of my life. The many moves from city to city, from the Midwest to isolated parts of southwest USA have helped me to have a more global perspective on humanity.

Hmm, your children have turned out to be exceptional humans. That is something in your favor.

    There is a story that at my birth, mother and I almost died. Mother later told of out-of-body travel toward a bright light… My Apgar score was zero for the first few minutes of life, so perhaps we traveled together. Mom hovered above her own body and watched a nurse suck blood out of my lungs for my eventual first cry. I was blessed to witness the last days of mom’s life on home hospice. She would lie on her bed and reach up to the ceiling as if she witnessed friends and family calling to her. That final night, I woke up from my vigil on the chaise lounge and watched her surprised smile and final sigh.

As I have already commented, we have met before.

    I say I fear you, grim reaper. Yes, I do, but I like to think that I too, will be surprised by your kind face, hidden by a hoodie… I sense there will be love in the grasp of your skeletal hand. You may be perpetually old, but you will use your scythe skillfully, severing ties that bind my body to earth. I am certain you will guide me to a place that is amazing and unexpected. I am up for a fourth dimension, heaven, or reincarnation…If it’s hell, so be it…but I know there is something beyond this life.  

My child, you were pre-destined for this final journey. Your family awaits you.

My wrinkled fear dimples into a grin as we run toward that same light I witnessed so long ago.