Not only am I watching from a distance as my mother's earthly sojourn winds down, I am also very conscious of the presence of death all around. This morning, while stirring the chunks of burning wood in the firepit, I watched a large grasshopper leap from the dewy blades into the killing white embers. He writhed for a second, and then was still, and then was consumed by the fire. And I stood there and thought about this creature, hopping along in the morning, doing what he was designed by his Creator to do, and then landing in the middle of a literal hell on earth.
Late this afternoon, we were returning to Possum Cough after running some errands and eating Chinese food. As we approached Gate City, I noticed two stray dogs trotting along the shoulder of the road. One of them, a large cream-colored pooch, began veering toward my path. I slowed down and honked my horn to warn him. He trotted in front of me, and I slowed even more to let him get by. "Look, he's limping. He has a hurt leg," I said to MeeMaw.
The man behind me lacked patience, and gunned his green minivan around me. He was doing about 35 or 40 when he hit the poor dog square. The sound of the impact was sickening, and the dog disappeared under the minivan in an explosion of light fur. In a flash, he tumbled out from behind the vehicle, and his entire body began jerking in death spasms. The man in the green minivan slowed very briefly, then continued on his way. MeeMaw was very upset and said, "Don't tell me. Don't tell me what happened to the dog." I kept silent, and didn't mention that the other stray dog was standing on the side of the road, watching his friend's death with a quizzical, hurt expression and cocked head.
All this to say that I am utterly sick of the death that pervades the culture of this so-called nation. I am sick of the pornographic violence that flits across every screen and monitor I see. And I say this as a man who used to enjoy Mafia movies, Tarantino movies, war movies. I am determined, by God's grace, not to set any more of this worthless trash before my eyes. In a deep and masterful movie like The Lord of the Rings triology, the violence and death are truly integral (and not gratuitous) parts of the story. But I refuse to watch any more of the trifling bilge like any of the blockbuster movies currently in theaters, no matter how many "tragic" Heath Ledgers the producers pack the movies with. Death is not amusing. Death is not compelling. Death is ugly, death is dreadful, and death is not "a natural part of life." Death is an enemy, though a conquered one.
I am a 48 year-old man who wishes he could resurrect all wandering grasshoppers and all wandering dogs tonight. But I can't. I can't defeat death, or slow its approach.
"In the midst of life, we are in death..."
