Gut Rumbles

October 20, 2007


Originally published February 23, 2005

I'm not afraid of dying. In fact, as sickly as I've been lately I might have considered a sudden heart attack in my sleep a fucking blessing. Life is difficult to live sometimes.

I don't claim to know what it all means. People have been dying for centuries and they'll keep on doing it. It's "Earth's diurnal course." It's the way things go.

Very few of us (if ANY) will be remembered in history books or have a statue of our likeness carved in the Town Square. We'll live, we'll die and the world will pretty much forget about us--- in The Big Picture, anyway.

I've been doing a lot of thinking about this subject lately.

Even when you're gone, family keeps you alive. LOVE keeps you alive. In my living room, I have a picture of my father's father. I never knew the man, because he died when my daddy was 12 years-old. But I often ponder that picture and wonder what he must have been like. I haven't forgotten him, even though I never met him.

When you die surrounded by family, you don't really die. Your immortality is standing all around you. No, you won't make the history books and nobody is going to carve your statue in the town square. But that doesn't matter.

A long time from now, a little boy or a little girl will ponder a picture of an ancestor, pretty much unknown and forgotten. But that child WILL KNOW who it was, and I hope that they do like I did. Ponder that picture. Wonder what that person must have been like. Never forget them.

If you do that, they never die.

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