My nephew died last Sunday. Apparently, the poison was too strong for him, and he relinquished life. But he did not simply fall down and die. From what I heard, he was up and about. He walked around, fooled about, even splashed the men who gathered in front of his house with water. Typical of him.
But when dawn came, he told his mother to 'prepare my clothes; they're coming to take me away.' Whoever they were, they came on time, and he died as the sun rose.
It might be that he knew he was dying, that there was no more within him that can help him heal, that his attitude became almost erratic. He spoke and fooled with people; even ate foods. I don't know what he was thinking when they came, but one thing was certain: he went down fighting to the last.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment