Death: The Journey of a Lifetime

After much thought and deliberation. I have decided that I would post something related to that infamous day ten years ago; September 11, 2001. I hesitated because I knew that countless ceremonies were happening and I am sure there will be plenty of news sources to read or memorials to attend. There has been a music written by John Adams, "On the Transmigration of Souls" that expresses beautifully the feelings of that day. What could I add? I decided that instead of looking to the past to remember those who lost their lives I would try to portray the present and where they are now.

Emily Dickinson wrote a poem that discussed the topic of death. How she felt about it and the journey after it.

Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me;

The carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality

We slowly drove he knew no haste

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,

For his civility.

We passed the school, where children strove

At recess; in the ring;

We passed the fields of grazing grain,

We passed the setting sun.

Or rather he passed us;

The dews grew quivering and chill,

For only gossamer my gown,

My tippet only tulle.

We paused before a house that seemed

A swelling of the ground,

The roof was barely visible,

The cornice only a mound.

Since then tis' centuries, and yet each

Feels shorter than the day

I first surmised the horses' heads

Were toward eternity.

-Emily Dickinson

Ms. Dickinson describes Death as one who, "knew no haste", as civil, and kind. You could call Death a gentleman by this description. One who comes when he is necessary and opens the door of the carriage to his passengers. He is the transport between mortality and eternity. Some will pass away at an old age, others will be taken in infancy; some will lose their lives fighting in war and others as an innocent casualty of war. Death passes upon us all. It is as natural as birth. It is not something to be feared. J.R.R. Tolkien describes it as a journey on a ship when, "...the grey rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he [Frodo] beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise." Death is not the end. Death is the beginning of something more grand than we presently can imagine.

It has been a decade since that fateful day that claimed hundreds of lives. Thousands of lives have been claimed in its aftermath. I am not suggesting that we forget them, for they have not forgotten us. I am only suggesting that we view them in their present state; a state of tranquility, of hope, and perhaps some contentment.