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 finished handling all these exhausting people and their demands does, too. It's where all the pain stops. You're finally alone (and I do understand that longing more than I realized.)
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 (assuming consciousness survives) we'll never know until we die. 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 so much more with my life than anyone ever 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. 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 my dream come true. That also allowed me to work my dream job for 28 years (or more, I hope!)
In the end, what matters is what matters to you. For me, this miserable life of mine didn't stop me from seeking happiness, being creative rather than destructive, and turning my dream into reality. At the end, that is the best way to cross that finish line: valiant.
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