A question posed as a writing exercise: what will you miss when you die? is one I consider literally at first. What will I miss? I suspect from my faith perspective, the literal answer is nothing, since I believe that with death, there is perfect union with God. In such a state of completeness, there is no absence, hence nothing to miss.
But, if the ‘me’ of now is the ‘me’ of then, if the ‘me’ of then feels the separation from this life, the me-of-then will miss . . .
The people I love . . .
and the chance to make things better between us . . .
All of my grandson Rowen’s firsts yet to come . . .
Sunsets . . . snow falling . . . the quiet of a winter’s day . . . rain storms . . .
I will miss weather . . .
Smells . . . of clover and cinnamon rolls baking . . .
Girls in Easter dresses . . . children laughing . . . and the night sky . . .
Smoking cigarettes in the dark talking with a friend . . .
The missed chances and missed choices . . .
Laughing . . . and crying . . .
Sentimental movies . . . and popcorn – with lots of butter and salt . . .
Snuggling under a warm blanket on a cold night . . .
Seeing a new place for the first time . . .
The faces of the old . . .
Hands to hold and be held by . . .
Sitting by a bonfire on a summer’s night . . . walking the Scottish highlands . . . sled riding . . . having another dog . . .
Eating food . . . Indian food spicy enough to make me cry with the heat of it . . .
Tasting strawberries on my tongue . . . sun-warmed tomatoes with salt . . . corn fresh from the garden . . .
Waking up to sunshine . . .
Seeing a rainbow . . .
Who my children will become . . .
lovely
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