Nobody Reads This Page – The End

 

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-25)

 

 

Subjects that inspire writing projects in the Icehouse home office are normally plentiful. Their arrival in a timely manner is generally something to be celebrated. I have even observed in print that the best of these seem to compose themselves, simply through their connection with real events and emotions. Yet a recent example of this phenomenon has proved to be darker, and decidedly more vexing in nature. After a number of health challenges for my sister, who is younger in age by two years, the family received word that she suffers from an aggressive form of pancreatic cancer. An affliction that has not been completely removed through complex surgical procedures. Therefore, she is likely to make an early exit from the mortal world, despite medical science, prayers, and love. All dispensed in prodigious quantities.

 

At first, this report bounced off my skull like an errant stone. I could not comprehend of such a development. The very notion of being separated from someone who I remember entering our household in southeastern Ohio, during my own childhood, was impossible to process. In the days since then, I have busied myself with other ideas, while at the keyboard. No particular delegation of duties had me directed toward making a prose assessment of this calamity. But as short manuscripts and poems lingered on my computer monitor, before passing into storage files, I grew weary with contemplation.

 

It was something that I had to address, through a process of creative expression.

 

An obvious starting point for inspiration would have been the Holy Bible. Indeed, my sibling might have suggested that familiar book of reference, if asked. Yet I could hear the unique and prescient verses of Bob Dylan, echoing from memory. His words offered a measure of comfort, while I sat, and listened from afar.

 

“When you’re sad and when you’re lonely

And you haven’t got a friend

Just remember that death is not the end

And all that you’ve held sacred

Falls down and does not mend

Just remember that death is not the end

Not the end, not the end

Just remember that death is not the end

 

When you’re standing at the crossroads

That you cannot comprehend

Just remember that death is not the end

And all your dreams have vanished

And you don’t know what’s up the bend

Just remember that death is not the end

Not the end, not the end

Just remember that death is not the end

 

When storm clouds gather ‘round you

And heavy rains descend

Just remember that death is not the end

And there’s no one there to comfort you

With a helping hand to lend

Just remember that death is not the end

Not the end, not the end

Just remember that death is not the end

 

Oh, the tree of life is growing

Where the spirit never dies

And the bright light of salvation shines

In dark and empty skies

 

When the cities are on fire

With the burning flesh of men

Just remember that death is not the end

And you search in vain to find

Just one law-abiding citizen

Just remember that death is not the end

Not the end, not the end

Just remember that death is not the end”

 

Another view appeared as I recalled that a cousin had mentioned Issac Asimov recently, the noted author and atheist scholar, who was a favorite of my late father. An odd truth perhaps, as my sire had been a pastor in the Church of Christ. While pondering the cycle of life, I fell upon one of his own takes about graduating from this known plane of human existence, to the next. I was chilled by his clever and brilliant economy of words.

 

“Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome.”

 

While reading about this subject in Psychology Today, I stumbled upon a quote by Albert Einstein. Having lost a venerable friend and associate, he observed dryly that the occurrence was different from what most individuals perceived.

 

“Now Besso has departed from this strange world a little ahead of me. That means nothing. People like us... know that the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

 

Finally, I retreated to a quote from Hunter S. Thompson, commonly cited as a nugget of wisdom. An exhortation not exactly suited to the plight of my bloodline counterpart, but weighty enough in its depiction of living life to a full measure.

 

“Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow, what a ride!’”

 

My sister had been more a more careful and cautious steward of her time on earth. Yet no one can now dispute that she has, by any standard, used her momentary spark of sentient, self-awareness to create a new generation, through her children and grandchild, and to spread a personal gospel of goodwill by being a kind neighbor, friend, and giver of baked goods and other culinary treats to promote fellowship. With that mindset always in place, her standing as a valued member of the community, and church, will never need to be debated, by anyone.

 

I concluded my text search with a scripture from Luke 1:46-48 that might have been uttered by my sibling, herself. The tone and resonance rang true to how she had lived throughout all her days.

 

“And Mary said: ‘My soul glorifies the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has been mindful of the humble state of his servant.’”

 

Though restless nights have followed both my family news, and this writing exercise, I derived some comfort from considering these honest perspectives. Each offered a viewpoint from which to gaze toward eternity, and imagine the unseen from a perspective not yet privileged to journey beyond the veil. I know that in time, I too will make that pilgrimage. But I hope fervently, that it is not today, or tomorrow.

 

I have more work to do, at my desk.