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Strength does not lie in our ability to grab-on to things, but rather in our willingness to let-go of them without fear, and as I approach my own death, my belief in this truth has only grown stronger.

Dying is the one universal event that we all must experience. We may be of different races, living in different environments and holding diverse political and spiritual beliefs, but it makes no difference. In our common fate, we must ultimately let-go of it all.

In 2014, the non-operative, cancerous tumor in my right lung was determined to be “slow-growing”, but it’s been growing slowly for several years, now metastasized to the bones surrounding it. So far, drugs have reduced the pain to a tolerable level, but I know the end is coming sooner than later.

But as men in Texas like to say, “this ain’t my first rodeo.” In a different sort of way, I died once before – or so I’m told.

I have no memory of it, but I’ve been told I died on the morning of May 20, 1949 in the maternity ward of Saint Rose hospital – the records now gathering sixty-eight years of dust in the basement
archives of the Barton County Courthouse in Great Bend, Kansas.

I’m told I came from a world no man has ever seen – a world where I laid comfortably suspended within liquid, loving warmth. They tell me I was given everything I needed without asking, while directly above my universe, the softly beating heart of my creator lulled me
into peaceful sleep.

Awakening from the most fantastic dreams of my life, I often pushed my arms and legs against the boundaries of my world, whereupon I felt the touch of human hands, or so I’m told.

“Feel him kicking right here”, I heard my excited creator say, and I felt a strange but gentle sensation of something pushing against me.  A soul from another world perhaps? I didn’t know, but I knew I was not alone, and I pushed back.  Before I died to that world, I felt that gentle touch many times, while hearing the muffled voices of phantoms beyond my reality who seemed to love me, sight unseen. I could feel the pulse of their excitement, while within my own beating heart, there arose a primal
quickening, or so I’m told.

I have no memory of that beautiful world, nor any recollection of leaving it. Likewise, I have no memory of entering the world that followed. But perhaps that’s just as well. Perhaps forgetting is better than remembering.

I don’t have the answer to that question, but my interest in it grows stronger with every day I’m given. As a Christian with a few more questions, I do believe there’s an afterlife, another world I’ve never seen, and letting go of this world will be the greatest adventure of my
life.

For now, I can only guess about the days to come, but I’ve got a growing sense that it will be simpler than I ever imagined, and more beautiful than I ever dreamed. Above me, I’ll not only hear, but will see the beating heart of my creator, and there will be no need for memory.

As always, your comments are welcome to the address below.

© 2017 David Bradshaw aka ‘Dave from Texas’
dbradshaw@rocketmail.com