These are the best days of the rest of your life. 

I woke today with that phrase repeating in my mind.  It was not from a song lyric, like those overly familiar songs that won't stop playing in your head.  It was there in bold, strong text, like dream-grafitti.  Like a benevolent communication from another place. 

This is my death.  For real.  I have always loved the pretense of dying, playing with the desperate fear like a cat with a mouse—until I am distracted by something interesting.  It was always such a relief after vividly lamenting my demise, to simply dismiss it until another day.  (I will will seek to dismiss it again when I finish writing here today, but it won't go very far nor will it stay away like it used to.)  It made me feel powerful, in control, or maybe just safe.  But this is happening; this is my flesh that deteriorates, not the flesh of some other unfortunate.  This is my brain not working like it used to—my thoughts that do not come when called, my memories that do not recognize me.  The fascinating stage of all my life is falling into darkness, and the luxury of turning away, I once so enjoyed, is gone. 

We fear a conscious imprisonment, we fear being trapped inside a suffering, able to know but unable to do.  Do I not trust this flesh to bear me safely to the end?  That is another of my fears, but like most fear, it evaporates on closer examination.  Can anything, any disaster, any agony, any injury not be healed by death?  If my body carries me to the end—and by definition, it will do that—then I have nothing to fear.  Indeed, I will be afraid; as each capacity fades and falls away I will weep and wail, and I will pray for reprieve.  Finally, I will gently say goodbye to each of these parts of me, all of them having been good friends, long devoted, and all of these capacities—since the moment they all first combined to become the individual of me—destined one day, appropriately, to diminish and recede. 

Clinging is the only obstacle.  As the gentle play of life's ending unfolds, I know it will provide for me scenes and lines, leading me kindly to the place of letting go.