Papa's Key of Life: A Story

Day 24

He walked up the center aisle past the rows of gunmetal gray folding chairs. His steps were slow and deliberate like the pendulum of a clock. Eyes downcast, watching as first one shoe would appear then the other. There was a small scuff mark on the left toe, it would have to be buffed out. Looking up he saw the bronze metal casket with golden handles. The right half was closed and draped in a blanket of red roses. The left half was open showing the ruffled, lily white satin liner. His mind drifted back to just a few weeks ago.

“Papa, why do people die?”

The old man hesitated a moment and then continued to shuffle forward down the hall until he and the boy were standing in front of the dusty grandfather clock. He opened the glass door on the front, reached down and picked up the key. He reached up, opened the clock face and inserted the key. The boy could here the sharp click, click, click as Papa wound the clock spring. The key was placed back in the body of the clock and with a gentle nudge the pendulum started to swing side to side in a slow hypnotic rhythm. Papa turned to the boy with a thoughtful expression.

“People are very much like this old grandfather clock. When we are born an angel comes down from heaven with a key. The key of life.”

They walked back to the study and Papa sat down in his favorite chair next to the fireplace. The boy climbed up into his lap and snuggled into the crook of his arm.

“The angel inserts the key right here”, he said pointing to the boys belly button. “You see? Then the angel gives it a turn and winds up the life spring inside us. When the spring of life winds down our souls are set free, like a moth leaves it's cocoon and then flies away. How long we live depends on how many turns of the key we receive.”

The boys mother took his hand in hers bringing back to the present. She wiped away a tear. The boy peered over the side of the casket. It looked wrong somehow. This was not his Papa. This looked more like a department store mannequin, plastic and cold. He remembered what his Papa had told him. This was just a cocoon, the soul had already departed.

His mother smiled and said, “Your Papa loved roses”

The boy watched the delicate wings flex next to a red petal and said, “He sure does.”

Until tomorrow,

Ken

Musings from My Mind on Life After Death

Day 10

I have never been very good about what to say at a funeral. The standard lines he/she is; in a better place, at peace, at rest, with God... seem so cliche. I try to say is something comforting from the heart.

Is there life after death? Or when we die, do we just cease to exist? These questions have plagued man since he first questioned human mortality.

What really happens? Are we in a palace sitting with God? Do we meet all of the people we knew who passed before we did? Or do we come to an end when the synapses in the brain stop firing and the body can no longer function on it's own?

If there is a heaven and we get what we want all the time, won't that get boring? If I'm fishing in heaven and I'm always catching record size fish in large numbers, where is the challenge?

Conversely why should I try to live a good life if there's no reward at the end?

 It depends on what you believe. It's a matter of faith.

Here's my two cents. Everything on this planet (probably in the universe) is recycled. Nothing just ceases to exist. Everything eventually breaks down and is reused. We are born of this earth and when we die our bodies return to this earth as food for others, from bacteria on up. We consume other inhabitants of earth from animals to plants to fish to water and even bacteria. It's a synergy. This system has worked since time began. That's what happens to our bodies. So why should our mind, the very essence of who we are, be wasted?

We are more than just flesh, blood and bone. We think, we reason, we question our own existence. Our minds are a culmination of our experiences which are wholly unique to each individual. This can be attributed to experiences and perception. No two people perceive things exactly the same. Thus we are influenced differently. I believe the mind is the soul and it continues after death.

I have a large print of a Victorian house with a wrap around porch, sitting next to a stream with a stone bridge and path leading to a barn. With a red sunset and tall blue and white mountains in the background. In the foreground left are two birch trees (my grandma liked birch trees). This is my idea of heaven and when I get there I know the ones I love who have gone before will be there. The ones who come after will find me there.

Those who don't believe will tell me I am lying to myself. To that I my answer is if I'm wrong and there is no afterlife, I'll never know.

Thanks for stopping by. See you tomorrow,

Ken

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