All those days I wasted lamenting
All the sunsets I missed with my eyes fixed on a screen.
All those neurons bounced around aimed at connection in pursuit of answers.
The real opportunities missed as the clock ticks down to zero. Or near zero.

Did you know that when you are pronounced dead, there’s a timer somewhere in the world that starts ticking down. 48 hours.

In the biz, we call it the death date time out clock. The Organizations that are interested in the eyes of the deceased don’t necessarily agree with those who are interested in your skin, or heart valves, or bones. Or your organs. There are markets for all these things. They are just material. All the parts of you might be valuable. Depending on what kind of life you’ve lived.

At the end of life. Your body is physical potential that exists beyond whatever happens to your essence. From now on, I’m going to try and use the word essence instead of soul. The soul is so overused. Abused. It’s cliche. The universe forbid clicheI

Anyway, back to the death date time out clock.

Saying “Death date” simplifies things a little bit too much though. In the biz, it’s actually CTOD. Or certified time of death. (Because people just love acronyms).

Maybe nobody was in the room when you died. Then we don’t really know the actual Date and time of death. In that case, it’s LTKA or Last Time Known Alive. That’s kind of sad. Someone so alone that they just died and there was no other human being there to witness it hold their hand or think a thought that might allow their essence to surf away to a better place.

That’s something, you know. What if human thoughts created wavelengths that allowed the essence of the dead to ride up and away instead of float down and settle into the carpet, and floorboards and earth below. I wonder if dying alone is some eternal tragedy. That the point we miss in life is human connection. that in death, those connections are a bridge. Doesn’t that make you want to be with people?

It does for me. I hate this pandemic. I miss people.

Asystole is another type of death date. Maybe you’re heart is hooked up to a machine that measures the beats. I suppose there are thousands of people in hospital beds and in hospice and nursing homes that have some sort of heart monitoring going on. Asystole is an event. The moment that the beat turns into a flatline.

Like LTKA, asystole can happen when nobody is around. But it is less likely. If you’re hooked up to a monitor, probably you are already under some sort of medical care that’s being managed by other people. They are watching and are hopefully nearby to assist if you go into cardiac arrest.

Sometimes, though, nothing can be done. And it’s just the end. And the date and time are recorded and the timer starts.

48 hours. How quickly can people work to follow all the right protocols in order to give you one last opportunity to give to your fellow human beings. Isn’t that something? That you can still give more to life even after you are gone. One last gift from the dearly departed.

If there is a tally somewhere keeping track of your good deeds. If there’s a supreme being with a clipboard and pen, checking off boxes and writing names on a special guest list, would that final gift be enough to get an invite to some eternal happy place?

What if you were a rapist or murderer. If, as your dying wish, you donated your eyes to some blind child or heart and kidneys to a dying person, would that be enough to turn the tide in your favor?

Isn’t it absurd to think about. The idea of heaven or hell or the idea of an omnipresent being lurking around and keeping score. I find it so absurd.

But if it keeps the believers in line, so much the better. Some people aren’t born with a moral compass and for them, I believe organized religion is a good thing.

For the rest of us, probably it’s enough to come to an understanding that the more sunsets we can see and the more people we can connect with, the better our life will be. And it’s not really worth wasting neurons on the questions of what and why and how and when. The questions are not the point. Time well spent is what matters.

I’ve got more to say about this, but ain’t nobody got time for that (including me).

Peace and Love,
~Miss SugarCookie