Death

By Tommy Acosta —

Sedona, AZ – Throughout my entire life, I have always considered myself immune to disease and illness.

During the Covid pandemic, I never wore a mask, mixed with people, and did not take the jab.

I never even had a sniffle. Then one day, my invulnerability ended abruptly.

Seeing a cardiologist because I had had a fluttering in my chest, he turned from a screen showing a CT Scan of my heart, with an extremely worried look on his face, and said the following to me:

“Thomas, you are in imminent danger of death.”

What???

With that simple sentence, my odyssey with coronary heart disease began, and my slide into the world of Western medicine started.

I’m not going to get into the myriad of physical ailments that sprang forth in my life from that moment on.

Rather, let’s delve into the issue of death itself.

Such finality. We live lives, splattered with joys and griefs, sorrows and happiness, fulfillment and suffering, creativity or mundane existence, only to die at the end.

What does it mean what we accomplish, the books, poems, songs we created during our lifetime when they all go poof at the end?

I know I loved and have been loved a lot, and for that, I am grateful. But am I ready to pull up the stakes and go home? Wherever home is? If there is anything waiting?

It’s not that I am afraid. It’s about what I would be missing in life should I croak.

I would miss the touch of another person. Kissing. Waking up in the morning with someone I love by my side. Watching the sunrise or sunset. Raising children. Enjoying a good book. Playing music on stage. Writing a new song.

I could go on and on writing provocative editorials, hitting the heavy bag, enjoying a snowstorm, jamming with other musicians, eating at a good local restaurant, basking in the sun of a glorious blue sky.

There are just so many things I love about life. The thought of not being able to enjoy them makes me sad. Such a short amount of time we are here.

And now, with the Sword of Damocles hanging over me, every second of life is so much more precious and valuable than before that diagnosis.

I look at everyone I meet or hang out with and marvel at the beauty of their souls. I study their features to take the memory of them with me when it’s time to exit.

I see the world through new eyes. I see the interconnectivity of all things and the energy that creates them.

Yet, still, the thought of losing it all to the shroud of Death, upsets me. Why so little time? And why does illness and disease torture us so? It’s almost not fair.

Precious time ticks by. I am compelled to talk to as many of those I love and express my love and gratitude for knowing them and having them in my life.

Meanwhile, as I wait for the next hammer to drop, I treasure each drop of life I have left in my mortal canteen.

Live. Love. Be here. Be now.

Oh.  And I thought I would throw in a bunch of love songs I wrote but never got around to properly record them.