Taking personal inventory is the way I've heard it described by my spiritual advisors. And after considering this and that and whatnot, I've come to the conclusion that the key to being prepared to die is to live without regret.
I'm not talking about the current popular idea of not giving a damn. That attitude only adds to the problem. I'm talking about living life in a way that gives no reason for regret. I've been taught that the key is in making amends as soon as possible when I slip up.
But enough of that. What I really want to talk about is my wishes for the day I die. Stay with me. It's not at all what you think.
I like to imagine that the moment I die will be perfect. What I mean by perfect is that in that moment I'll have nothing to regret and I'll be perfectly content.
I don't want to die in bed. I'd rather be mobile and moving when the time comes. I think nighttime would be best. If I meet Death in the daytime, especially on a bright, clear day with lots of birdsong in the air, I might be tempted to resist her and struggle to hold on. I don't want to fight Death; I hope to go willingly.
I can imagine walking along an old stone bridge--like the memorial bridges built after the Great War. The full moon will be reflecting off the river. I might hear soft footsteps behind me and when I look round, I see Death coming to meet me.
"Nice night," she'll say.
"My night," I'll say.
"Mind if I walk with you a bit?" she'll ask.
"Please do," I'll say. And I hope that I'll be able to honestly say, "You're lovelier than I imagined you'd be, and younger."
"Nice of you to say," she'll reply.
We'll walk together in silence for a while, across the river in the moonlight.
"I know that I'm dying," I'll say to prevent any awkwardness or embarrassment for her.
"I figured," she'll say.
"I'm just out for a walk in the moonlight," I'll say. "I always wondered if I'd have regrets when my time came. I thought the best memories of my life would be playing in my mind. But instead, my mind is calm and I'm just one with the night, one with the river."
I look at her expecting a reply but she doesn't answer and we walk on in silence. In the middle of the bridge, I stop and stare at the full moon. I remember Abbie, the cat who taught me to fully appreciate moonlight. Cat's taught me so very much about appreciating life.
After a few seconds of meditation, I realize that there is nothing left to dream and nothing more to desire. It's a good day to die. When I look at Death again, I see the moon's reflection in her eyes and I realize that my home is no longer in this world by the river but with her wherever she takes me.
"Are you ready?" she'll ask.
"I'm ready," I'll say.
She'll put her arms around me and hold me tight. It's much more comforting than I ever thought it could be. It feels safe and loving. It feels like home.
From somewhere above the bridge, I watch her write my name in the dust which is all that's left on the spot where I stood. It reminds me of the days I used to write my cats' names in the sand on my morning walks through Brunswick Forest.
And so then I'm with everyone who has gone on before me. My life is complete.