Nobody wants to talk about Death. Nobody wants to even think about Death. Death is something that we would rather keep bolted within the vault of fiction, or banish to the realm of the unreal.
And yet, Death is real. It is a capricious specter, stealthily drifting with the passing shadows, ever poised to strike. And when it strikes, it spares no one. It would just as greedily stretch forth its icy fingers to claim the grandfather who has seen a hundred summers as it would the unborn babe, robbing it of the chance to ever see the light outside its mother’s womb. Death spares no one. It holds all in powerless subjection to its absolute dominion.
This is the sinister face of Death.
But Death has another face: a face so gentle and tender; a face that brings peace and solace. For those whose pain and agony have become too great to bear, Death is a godsend. Like a loving mother, Death cradles in its bosom those for whom life has become no more than an endless drudgery of illness, pain, and anguish. Gently and lovingly, Death caresses the tortured souls in its restful arms, lulling them to sleep with soothing lullabies and whispered promises of a hereafter completely devoid of suffering. As the last ember of life fades into oblivion and the final breath escapes the tormented body; as the final spark of light dissolves into utter nothingness… there, in Death’s cold embrace, they are forever released from their miseries.
This is the gentle face of Death.
Leave a Reply