It's ironic, and somewhat morosely comedic, that even when you welcome death it doesn't come when expected.
But on that day when it's finally time, you are served a final lesson, that split second before it overtakes you, and that is that the universe doesn't operate like you always believed it did. In fact, it's the polar opposite, and in the process, it shatters every preconception you might have had. All in that split second.
Except, this wasn't the case for me. That one second of final clarity for most people could be considered to have lasted an eternity for me, or, to put it in simpler terms, a different causality. Causality. The relationship between cause and effect. That was the rub. Causality is the basic law of the universe, played out in our perceived simple lives. But what began causation? After all, something or someone had to begin it, whether that be simple quarks playing off each other on the subatomic level, or some sort of god.
As I said though, preconceptions and misconceptions are often shattered into many little pieces at the least expected moments, and such was how my Wednesday played out.
It was one of those dreary and overcast days, 8:30 p.m., and I was just getting out of church and heading home. Not that I had believed in "Him" for a long time, but it was a place where I felt accepted, and the people there had helped me through a hard time in my life when my dad died. They also had a lot of great programs that helped people in need, so I felt compelled to stay and help a good cause.
Everything else though had gone to crap. I was unemployed, my mother was distant, and I lived alone in a studio apartment on the east side. My grandparents and temp jobs were the main things that kept me afloat; that and college. By some miracle I had been born into an Indian tribe, which meant I received some benefits, some scholarships, but that didn't mean I wasn't still facing a giant heaping amount of debt later in life, it just meant I had a foot in the door.
Great, I muttered in my head, as I mulled it over for the thousandth time driving down the interstate. I would probably be able to manage and compartmentalize all these problems like an average American kid reaching adulthood, if it wasn't for debilitating depression and panic attacks I got at the least opportune of times. And it all stemmed back to my father.
Since I can remember, I've been introverted, almost bordering on a hermit-like existence, and it was Dad that helped me step out of my shell, got me involved in the world. He was the one that constantly encouraged me to branch out and make friends, he was the one that continuously stated his belief in me. Now he was gone, a victim of an early onset case of one of America's biggest killers, a heart attack.
After he passed, everything took a turn for the worse. I shut the world out again, like before he stepped into my life at twelve. I had heart palpitations, depression, and when panic attacks hit, my hands trembled like I had Parkinson's. This is why I couldn't hold down a job, instead relying on my grandparent's goodwill. They did their best, even offered their home for me to stay in, but I couldn't say yes, couldn't completely look like a deadbeat.
Ughh, just thinking about this crappy life I had made me sick, and made me withdraw even more from reality, which was probably why I didn't see the oncoming semi-truck that smashed into my small pickup at sixty miles-per-hour going through a four way intersection. I saw it a millisecond before it happened, but that's not when I came to the realization about the grand scheme of things. No, that would come later. All I noticed at the moment was the sound of rushing wind.