Death is sometimes a punishment, often a gift; to many it has been a favor.

A beautiful death is for people who have lived like animals to die like angels.


What a wretched life it was, his final moments prolonged. He resembled an angel though, after he had died. But life was hell until that final moment.

Old age is a certainty. I guess he spent his last few years wondering about his death. He must have recognized the ominous signs when his vision started to fail. Strength was slowly sapping away from his body. He yearned for comfort, love and care but of no avail. He was on his own.

After having traveled far and wide in his prime, I wonder what went through his mind when he was confined to his bed; the whole world had shrunken to a few meters from his bed.

Being a chain smoker, I was surprised to find that he no longer derived pleasure in smoking. He would put the stub out after a few drags from it. The floor around his bed used to be littered with half burnt stubs. It was unusual for a chain smoker to not finish his stub.

He abstained from eating and drinking, probably hoping for a quicker end. But he had to wait. It seems that he was put on a waiting list that had quite a lot of names ahead of his!

He weakly protested when his family tried to forcibly feed him. I don’t know what caused him more anguish; the act of eating or eating itself.

His body had given up but his heart and soul were still going strong.

For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.


He certainly knew when it was his time to go. He would have probably danced with joy. The family knew too as he started to bid goodbye’s to every one.

He died like an angel, in his sleep. It was like some one had done a huge favor.

They say that a person’s entire life flashes before his eyes when the moment comes.

I call it the final celebration of life because there is no more life after you die.


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