WRITTEN AND DRAFTED ON OCTOBER 6TH, 2016
ONE MONTH PRIOR TO ELECTION DAY 2016
I have been dwelling on the concept of death for quite some time now. It sounds Draconian but maybe it is not that big of a surprise to some of you, if you look carefully enough. Living with my parents to finish the book has been a relatively friction free existence. But they are, without a doubt, harbingers of the fragility that is human life.
My dad isn't exactly in optimal health, as he endured a quad bipass heart surgery back in 2009. My mom is basically a Taiwanese Yoda, but even she is starting to show signs of wear and tear, and natural organic decay in their earthly shells. From the way that they run their lives, I can tell right now that they are fucking terrified of death. Who am I to argue with them if they want me to wear slippers on their mahogany hardwood floors, so as to avoid getting my greasy dirty footprints all over the place? It's just dead skin and sweat, sure, but it is a salient reminder that we are, in fact, dying slowly.
I happily oblige in squee gee-ing the shower glass after every shower, like they do. Streaks are a bitch to clean out, particularly since the minerals in the water do a good job of leaving chalky residues everywhere you don't wipe. I sometimes squeegee and wonder what they must feel like after they take their showers. I imagine that on at least several occasions, they are desperately trying to make sense of their own mortality. My dad staring down at his surgery scars, wrapped in saran, my mom applying creams that keep her face from drying off her skull, pooling around her chin in puddles of human skin.
I had a sandwich with my dad the other day as he dropped me off at PDX.
I stared at him intently as he slowly ate his roasted chicken sandwich, with no cheese and no mayonaisse.
" You know, dad, I have been thinking a lot about you and mom since I have started living with you to finish the book."
"Oh yeah? Regarding what?"
"Well, more specifically I think about your Christian beliefs."
My dad paused a moment in his sandwich and leaned in, interested in my take. Prior to this recent time spent with them, we had not been on civil talking terms regarding Xtianity, or ANY religion for that matter, for a LONG LONG TIME. I continued.
"From what I can tell, you and mom are terrified of death. I think every human being on the planet can relate to this fear in some capacity or another. Some people flat out deny it and some people, like you and mom, seek answers to comprehend this massive and mysterious concept."
"Like Christianity."
"Yes. Jesus Christ, according to Christian beliefs, is the Saviour of our fallen nature. But what I think often gets overlooked or second-tiered is the idea that Jesus Christ is the Saviour from eternal DEATH."
"That is exactly right."
"So in regards to you and mom, I look at you and mom, and you are both obviously very set in your ways. You are SO convinced that Jesus and Christianity is your ticket punch to Heaven, that you have devoted nearly FOUR DECADES to the idea that this is the one true solution to avoid death, which by concept we as humans can barely understand because eternity is just so vast and unbearable."
My dad nodded in contemplative observational agreement. I could tell he was very happy that we were finally having a semi-civil theological discussion. We had found asylum and, dare I say, even common ground.
"Well Jon, that is a very astute observation. And yes, Mom and I have been Believers for a really long time. But what are you trying to say?"
"What I am trying to say, dad, is that I as your son have seen you and mom subscribe to this faith for so long. And for a long time we were not close. But now that I have slowly begun re-investing in our dynamic and in our relationship, this belief construct of yours is the one thing that keeps sticking out to me.
Honestly, I look at all the time you have devoted to this, and I now have been inspired to find it in my own heart to really pull for you. I look at how full of faith you are, and I sometimes just go 'man, i really do hope there is a Heaven, and that Jesus really was the correct lottery gumball.'"
My dad appeared to be very moved by what I had to say.
"Thanks, that means a lot, especially coming from you. One of my biggest regrets was that Mom and I failed as parents to convey to you the true message of Jesus Christ. But I am glad to know that we have been able to influence you in our demonstrative behavior at least on a small level."
"I really do hope you are right, for your sake. But that therein lies the problem, right? How can anyone really know what happens to us after we die? If we have a soul or not, or any of those other questions that humans have been asking for years, to try and even comprehend the concept of eternal death? I would love if you were able to come back and tell me and go 'yes, Jesus really was the right way in', but that won't happen because you'll be dead and unable to communicate with me."
My dad kind of chuckled at the idea of coming back in ghost form. We ended the discussion with him imploring me to keep an open mind. After all, if none of us really truly know the answer, he quipped, wouldn't it hurt to buy into some insurance and at least try? Believing in nothing is convenient but it does feel rather lazy.
Asylum.