There was this story of a political activist who was considered an enemy of State and sentenced to death. His last act when given the chance, was to hug his mother. This got people curious. Why not his wife, a child, or any of his comrades-in- arms? The message here however, is not that he chose his mother, but that nobody else can really know what our last wish is until we act on it.
No one can adequately second guess our last testament if not told, or to avoid ambiguity, if not written down. Many of us know about the need to tidy up our earthly affairs, but very few of us act decisively on it. Many believe it is morbid. Or that there is time. Or both. Yet, only the lucky ones – or unlucky depending on how one looks at it – get a premonition of imminent death. The rest of us are caught off-guard.
One minute, we are making long term plans, the next minute we are no more – like the rich man in the Bible who was planning bigger barns to house an expected harvest only to have his soul taken from him that same night. A few days before I sat down to work on this column, our cleaning lady came into the house teary eyed. Her cousin, to whom she was very close, had died the night before. They had spoken in the morning and had promised to get in touch with each other after work.
By afternoon, her calls to her cousin went unanswered. She was later told her cousin slumped in her shop. She was pronounced ‘dead on arrival’ at the hospital she was rushed to. She was 35. She left two kids behind. She was divorced. A couple of days before this, an obituary was announced in church. The name didn’t mean much to me until her photograph was shown on the screen. This lady had sat next to me two Sundays before. She had actively participated in all the rituals of Sunday worship.
It is a wakeup call for me if I needed any. It is also a wakeup call for many of us. We procrastinate, or even vacillate thinking there is always time. But nobody knows when the last hug will be. Or the last phone call. Or the last visit. So we’d better start on that project we have been delaying for too long. That reconciliatory call we have been reluctant to make because of pride. That warm hug that would reassure our partners that we still love them.
That trip we have been dreaming about but which constantly get deferred until ‘a more convenient time’. The greatest mistake we make is thinking we control time. We don’t. Time is not there to do our bidding. It is in fact the other way round. It is in the use of time that we have a measure of control. A day that has passed can never be replicated. Only the memories of our activities that stay with us can be replayed. We don’t even have the luxury of knowing how much of our time has been used up. One minute we are going about our chores. The next minute we are in the other world. C’est la vie as the French would say.
A more poignant, more insistent wakeup call happened to me a couple of Sundays ago on the Third Mainland Bridge. It was about 7.30 PM. My mind was peaceful as I headed home. I had missed the Finals of Rome Masters and was thinking it would be nice to catch the replay. Then I saw what looked like a foreign object on the road. I slowed down to discern properly in the semi-darkness. They were mattresses that were either deliberately or inadvertently dropped on the road. Mattresses on the Third Mainland Bridge? I slowed down further to see how I could navigate and make a safe detour.
But I didn’t reckon with those who had made the Third Mainland Bridge a race track. I heard the screeching of brakes followed by a loud bang. I had been hit. Badly from the rear. In that instant, I thought my time was up. Two thoughts came up as I fought for control – the fear of careering into another speeding car or the car stuttering to a stop in the middle of the highway. Neither happened. I said a little prayer of thanks to God and gave a little thought of appreciation for the resilience of German cars.
Driving slowly home with a now malfunctioned seatbelt, an open boot blocking rearview and an automatically activated hazard sign, I couldn’t help but think of what could have been had the accident been fatal. I thought morbidly of how long a definitive identification would take if the car had been crushed with me inside. In all probabilities, scavengers would have descended on whatever remained of the car in minutes to fight over valuables including my phone and in the process misplace other means of easy identification. I thought about how long it would take for me to be missed knowing that I was ‘home alone’ and the driver was unlikely to disturb me in the morning especially if I didn’t pick calls.
As I travelled the usual route home – signposts which I had always taken for granted now assumed an ominous importance. It is amazing how one looks at things differently if one had just had a near death experience. My thoughts went to important things I needed to tidy up and had been postponing. I then thought of the office I had used for years and documents only I could reach easily. I even thought of my locker at the club and the ‘private’ things locked within. I realise gratefully, that I have been given another chance. Here is hoping that those of us who have another chance at life use this new lease with the knowledge that life is a gift. While I don’t think I can ever be like St Paul and say at any time, that ‘I have fought a good fight. I have finished my race’, I do hope that I can use whatever time left to push myself to a level of accomplishment – spiritually and emotionally – that makes transiting to the next stage – or the next world – less daunting. Or even more accepting.
About thirty years ago, a much older friend – more like a mentor really – said on his death bed ‘another stage starts with the Lord tomorrow’. He was smiling. I found that quiet acceptance of the final moments very courageous for someone who had led an active and successful life. He was under 65. Lord, teach us to number our days so we can apply our hearts to wisdom (Psalm 90).
