What If I Should Die Tomorrow?

What if I should die Tomorrow?

How it started.

I have always thought about it, what if it should happen tomorrow, what if it happened today? Like I was expecting some big answer. Have you ever just woke up in the morning looked in the mirror and said to you’re self what is there to leave behind? And you stare at your reflection as if it would answer you. Have you ever-laid in bed at night eye wide open and thought to yourself who am I? And again you waited for the darkness to answer. That’s me the persons whos Brain runs a million thoughts threw roadways of knowledge. Let me tell you, you wont get an answer innless you intend to be physic.

I can remember how all these questions started. I attended a funeral and a few weeks later I observed anther one on T.V. As these souls are being laid to rest it about then I realize where is my life going, who am I and what will I leave behind?

At the funeral I went to, I looked and walked to the casket several times for closer, but received none. As if a wall was guarding it, perhaps I do not wish to accept that fact that death is real. I live on a quote “ It’s not death if you refuse it”; I read it in a comic book called The Crow. And still over and over again I returned to that coffin and looked in, as if waiting for the gentleman inside to sit up and to say go home everything is all right. His coffin was elegantly gray (gun metal gray) with a metallic flack, outlined in silver the inside was pure white perfectly represented for a hero. I call him a Hero because he was a firefighter, every fireman or firewoman should be honored with great respect. He laid in his uniform of blue shirt holding pins and medals, dark blue pants with a stripe down the legs. He was peaceful and rested with purity. On a wood stand next to the casket closest to his head there was a yellow helmet, reflector tape made it hard to take descent pictures (trust me I know, danm people listen to me turn off the flash!), it was engraved and sculpted with eagles wings spread and in front it said his name and position. Even though he was a retired firefight of 20 years he was still one in his heart.

To the foot of him a collage was made with pictures, where he was the center of attention and his family surrounded him. That day I placed a picture I drew of him as a fire fighting super hero in his casket above his head. I fought tears…I am now too. The family and friends had to pass by honor guard (ex-military) they saluted and at each end of the casket in front of the pews there stood two more holding fire axes, the blade glimmered like Christmas wonderments. I sat in the back of the chapel, looking around I admired these family and friends this man had made in his 73 years of life. I can still hear the preacher’s voice talking about grains of salt and sharing, I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.

Two songs echoed in the heights of the chapel, on was a song about god only crying for the living and another by something about only stopping by. The chapel assistant and manger rolled the casket out to the Hurst; we then loaded up in cars and road the long ride with fire trucks leading the way. The sirens where on but no sound, they flashed over the cars and trucks behind them. The police blocked off the streets and highways and stood in salute as the Hurst passed. I sat in the back seat of this mans sons car, few words spoken the silence was creeping. We passed under fire trucks latter, (latter trucks) that where X at the top, we drove in a lope and slowed down to a halt. I watched as the retired firefighters lined up on each side and the coffin removed from the hurst and carried to the last resting place, the family fallowed behind to sit and say there last goodbyes.

The preacher said a prayer then the fireman passed the helmet that was on show down the firefighters and to the oldest son, The fireman returned to stand and read a short speech about fireman’s and there last call to a bell. Suddenly from over the fire tuck intercoms we head them say his name 4 times. I finally gave into tears when I heard “ Has answered his last call home to the father. A great loss to us all. All units be advised firefighter Jonathan Mores is 10-7 (out of service), 10-42(tour of duty completed) forever more” and then the bell rang 4 times. The family and friends gathered around this good man one last time for finally goodbyes. I turned around in my seat while leavening and watched the hugs and pats take place, my eyes glanced at the coffin one last time and my mind was at ease and pride washed over me I was proud to have known him.

On the 2nd of January, I watched a former President Gerald R. Fords funeral, what a wonderful way to start the New Year off. My eyes glued to the coffin as if he too would sit up. This coffin was brown with gold trimmings. That American flag seemed to shine as the red and white strips ran vertical and the blue with white stars lie across the left top corner of the casket representing the Union. I can recall each step the Honor guard would take well holding the bed, each call the commanding officer would make, and they turned in sequence on cue like a fine dance recital. Their uniforms barely even shuffling even though it was windy that day. As they loaded him into the Hurst I began to see that this is the last ride everyone takes pretty much no matter whom you are, whether it be in a truck, car, limo or jet. The path was slow and study, as if one last time he would enjoy the breeze of day, the warmth of the sun, and the call of the people who loved him. As that Hurst road to the National cathedral I have never seen anything so glories wonderful in my life. Each stone held a mission, each step a pureness and the isle was shaped as a cross. When the family’s shuffled in it was a long walk. As soon as the casket entered the structure they marine corp. band began to play Hail to the Chief. Betty Ford sat in the pew that day in the front with all four children and held strong, but in her eyes pain brewed like a storm. I listened to each speech and each song, strange how when someone passes over we learn everything about them. The choir sang several times that day and many tears washed cheeks. One last time I watched the as the coffin was loaded into the Hurst and away they drove leavening behind family and friends one last time.

The Days after.

Weeks had passed and I was still looking for answers. Over and over again I recalled both funerals, they played like movies in my head. Each sound and each voice I recalled. You think about it long enough you start to make choices and decisions you never thought you’d make. You think about each movement and each hour of the day, and asking your self is today my last day?

I read in a book somewhere that you face death up to 13 times a day and never even know. That’s scary isn’t it? Some reason well I was thinking about that I felt it necessary to taste the antibacterial dish soap, boy did that taste like crap! It said it was orange scented. I spit in the sink and gargled water, which after I looked into the mirror and realized that could have been one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. I think I did it because I was being curios, you shouldn’t hide from things even if it taste like baby vomit and I also learned I should be curios more often because I ended up reading the back of the dish soap container.

After a while of trying new things out of curiosity you being to realize a lot more, such as everything has a smell and taste. You really learn a lot even if your curiosity can get you hurt, like example I know a child who loves to inmate wrestling moves on and old orange parking cone. Watching him one day I diced to join in, He was calling out the matches and the moves I was using. He would set up tag team matches where it was him and me VS another tag team.

I seemed like in ever match we where The Brothers of destruction and we where always going against someone he really disliked. I’d do a move wrong or say something wrong and he’d come over to me correct me, sometimes I could do nothing but giggle. His pretty accurate wrestler for being 7 years old, he can finish a move perfectly and execute a great 619 (a wrestling move by his favorite wrestler Rey Mystreio JR.). After a while of wrestling I got brave and was attempting more fancy and high risk moves (after all I was Kane), I was really getting into it with a road cone, but at that time it wasn’t a road cone it was MR. Kennedy and I was winning a Tag Team Title match against him! As I was saying I got brave and did a full elbow drop into the cone in which ended up with a sore elbow and a hard laugh after hitting my funny bone. I think I might have even stood up rubbing my elbow.

At that moment my tag team partner ran over to me holding the belt in the air and shouting “ the new Tag Team Champions of the World, Kane and The Undertaker!” He pulled my sleeve and said now let’s play something else, I snapped back to reality and realized that it was ok to still have an imagination just somewhere I misplaced mine. Thank God for 7 year olds, I found mine again.

It was a warm day with a slight breeze. I was riding my bike home from work, as I watched the ground pull under the tire’s I remember when I was 9 and sticking a baseball card in the spokes for that motorcycle sound. Just whatever kid needs a want to be motorcycle, as of now I ride a gray Huffy that I built my self from scarp parts. Anyway watching the ground pull under my front tire and remembering that baseball card thing I recalled that I spent a lot of my childhood racing around a bike and jumping over things even if it was only 3 inches off the ground. I never really understood why I had to jump over things, race and slide around corners, try and beat my friends to the end of the block.

When I was 10 I attempted to jump my bike over a garbage can, one of those big metal ones. Noticed the word attempted. I would have mad it if only my bike wasn’t a 10 speed! I ended up slamming into the side of can and wrecking the bike, I wasn’t hurt lucky but now I had to face my parents. After telling them my story my stepfather laughed and my mother thought it was stupid, needless to say I spent a week cleaning the kitchen. As a child you’re practically immortal, to bad you couldn’t save that energy.

I looked down at my bike tire and I was picking up speed, what the heck might as well continue threw and so I did, I felt the wind like I did as a child and smiled as I stood up on the bike. I felt freedom and faith again. I don’t know how fast I was going but when I came flying around the corner into my yard and threw the gate, I slide a few feet. After stopping and taking in a deep breath I could do nothing but laugh. I miss being a child freedom and faith seem so far away right now.

I was standing at the washer, dropping clothing into it. It was laundry day I always try and do laundry on Wednesdays and Sundays. I picked up my pair of black jeans and smirked as I tossed them in and added the laundry soap, as I watched it pour in I remember when I was 5 and tried to do my own washing. I bleach for soap and everything came out well, Spotted. Whites where pink and pinks where light pink. It was awful. The worst thing was my black jean in that wash, I was proud I did my own washing but now I had a cool pair of black tie-dye jeans. I cried at first thinking I was in trouble or I broke the washer, then my mom came in and seemed to make everything all right. I snapped out of it and looked down in my washer. Crap! I just added about half of the liquid soap. Now here I was sitting on the dryer scooping soap out with a measuring cup and carefully dumping it back into the container. At times like this I wish my momma were there to make it better. When you’re a child your innocents seem to help even in the most difficult of times, now when you’re an adult innocents seems to have faded out of sight, now you answer for ever mistake and every opps in your life.

The Day of awakening.

As always I heard the annoying sound of the alarm clock, one of those sounds you just hate to hear. I’m not a morning person but work calls and I like my job. I reached over and switched it off, I laid there a few moments with my eye’s closed and suddenly was startled out of bed by the sound of a door closing. I sat up and realized my bedroom door had closed, carefully I crept up to the door fist drawn back, which proudly looked really funny sense I was wearing a old white t- shirt and a pair of shorts.

I flung open my door and was blinded by the beaming of white light; I put my arms in the air to shadow my face. I was froze at first by fear, then thought maybe my home was on fire after that thought I ran into the light hands over my face, but was stopped by the sounds of crying. I uncovered my eyes and stopped dead in my tracks, my eye scanned the area…my house turned into a chapel? I was puzzled. I looked up the isle the carpeting was royal red, and from a distance it looked as if someone famous had died all I could see was people surrounding the coffin. Then it hit me, I know these people! I ran to them passing pew after pew it seemed like I ran forever.

I tried to push my way threw the crowd, but was surprised when I passed threw them. I stared at my hands in terror. Finally when I got threw and looked forward, I seen something I’ll never forget. I saw myself. Back casket, with gold and silver trimmings, blood red lining and a hand carved cross on the top. I yelled; “ this is joke right?” no answer came. I looked back in at myself, who ever set this up set it up well, I was dressed in my white poets shirt, black slacks, thick leather brown belt, brown café high boots and my favorite cloak. And over my body was my favorite sword, my hands lay over the handle and the blade pointed sword my feet.

On both sides of my coffin was white and black candles burning, but they where those candles that you burn and they drip blood. Someone put a lot of thought into this funereal. Again I spun around and seen my family talking with friends. “ Please stop this joke it’s not funny,” I was acutely crying now, you never realize the effect this has on you in tell you see it for your self.

Everyone soon was seated and each talked about how well they knew me and loved me. My best friends where there and to one of them named Cassy my mother passed her my black trench coat, to Chirs my Wiccan stuff and to Danelie my model cars.

I could hear the pain in there voice and I remember I kept yelling “ I’m here! I’m right here…god don’t cry Cassybear. Don’t cry Chirs-a-roo, and Danielle don’t cry!” my voice seemed to echo into distance. There were only a few people here at my funereal and only these few loaded my casket on to a horse carriage like those ones in the medieval times. It was black with red curtains and gold trim. It was an every slow ride in a Hurst to the gravesite; I was running after cars fallowing them on foot. I bear feet touched the wet grass of the funereal home but I felt nothing.

My casket carried to the gravesite and all gathered as it begun to lower into the depths of the mother earth. Everyone lined up and slowly passing the hole they all dropped a different color rose in, except my mother, Chirs, Cassy and Danielle who all dropped red roses in. Then I noticed where was my lover, my soul mate, and my all, perhaps the pain was to much for her, I could relate with that. My brother said a few things about the time he did spend with me and slowly he shoveled on the first pile of dirt and after that each one of my family members and friends did the same.

I heard the thunder crash and it begun to pour rain, everyone slowly walked to their cars. My mother, Chirs, Cassy and Danielle stood there in the rain staring at my grave. My mother turned and walked back to her car leavening the cemetery. My 3 friends stared staring on, all holding hands, when suddenly Cassy broke the pack and ran to my grave and fell over it crying, Chirs and Danielle gathered her up and they son finally left the graveyard. I looked down at the grave and hit my knees, my hands covered my face and tears like I’ve never cried flooded my face. I tried to reach into the soil “ no. No…. I’ve have to be with my friend…. My family.no.no.please don’t do this” but my hand wouldn’t cling to the dirt. I lie on my own grave closing my eyes and watched the rainfall.

I rolled over to my back and peered up into the sky of rain clouds and thunder, thunder clashed and suddenly I opened my eyes sitting up in bed.

That’s right it was all a danm dream, my own funereal, yep in my subconscious mind I tormented my self.

Strange how when your suppose to be dead, you realize just how much everything and one means.

But somehow after that dream, I found closer, hope, faith, innocents, freedom and answers.