Leaving the scene of a life

I recently met a young man who, without knowing it, absolutely changed my outlook on life.  More accurately, my outlook on death; my own and of everyone I know.

He was telling a group of people about a landmark book from his youth, one that influenced him in some way or created those kinds of memories that leave us breathless when we encounter them.  His was Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.  He loved the characters, the escapism, and the silliness of it all.  Then he said, “I always tell myself, when I am about to die I hope I see a white rabbit wearing a waist coat, egging me on to follow him down a rabbit hole.  I would be quite content.”

Can you imagine that?  He envisioned no agonizing pain or futile struggle to live.  There would be no white light leading him to heaven, his family standing at the top of the stairs welcoming him to the divine truth of life.  A white rabbit coaxing him to follow down a rabbit hole would allow him to leave this world content.

One immediate thought sprung to my mind:  Who is going to take me down the rabbit hole?  Will I know who it is before I die, as he did, or will it be a surprise?  My next thought was, why haven’t I ever considered death in this fashion?  I am decades older than this young man, yet his insight, both disquieting and heartening, is years beyond my own comfort level with death.

I am not afraid to die but I certainly do not relish the prospect.  It will not matter how old I am when I die, I am still going to have some unfinished aspects of my life that I will regret not attending.  I will still want more life.

I struggle acutely with the death of family members and friends.  I want them to have more life, too.

Now, however, I am going to wonder how their life ended, behind the scenes and in ways that only they may understand.  I will be comforted knowing it was special for them.