The Day I Learned of My Death

It's been a long time, but I am finally getting back to writing my memoir. The book that will tell the story of how I fell from grace as a once promising news reporter to a homeless woman doing what she had to survive.

This is an excerpt from the book. Something I thought I would include, but I may not. I wanted to share it with you.

The Day I Found Out I Was Going To Die

I have avoided writing this memoir for years. I pick it up and put it down like a bad habit I am

trying to kick. But I never quit it. On some levels I feel this memoir is the one thing I am meant to do.

A dream I’ve had since I was a little girl to write and publish a book. But as a little girl I admit my

dreams were more grandiose than just publishing a book. I envisioned myself leading talks in

conference halls, being on the cover of magazines. I knew in my spirit what I would write woul

d be something special, a journey that stirred something in people. But as I am looking back on that

dream through the eyes of a much older me, I am now very ashamed of the story I have to tell you.

I tell myself when I own this story, when I accept it then I’ll write it. But what if that day never comes.

This is a race I do not want to start … but I will begin.

I remember exactly where I was when I discovered I was going to die. Until that point I can recall

enjoying life. Rising every morning with a feeling of optimism. Lying down every night knowing I

would rise again. But this night, a night with no visible stars in the sky, just a bright half-moon, I

came to the harrowing realization that time was infinite for me.

My mother and I were lying in my bed. It was one half of a teen bunk bed facing the window. A white

crescent moon casted it’s light on our bodies.

“One day we will all die,” my mother says.

“Die, what does that mean, to die?”

“You will no longer be on earth anymore?” she replied.

“Not on Earth, where will we be?” I asked.

My mind was racing at the possibility of simply not being. I had so many questions. Would this dying

hurt? Would it be dark? Would I be alone?

I sat up in bed to interrogate my mother. The sound of her heavy breathing let me know I would have no

answers for this. My mother was deep in sleep after just shattering my existence. One day we will all

die.

This profound fact of life lingered in my mind in almost every decision I made as a kid. Coupled

with my parent’s intense rules and pressures to be a good girl, I was determined to live a grand life.

A life people looked up to. I recall as a teenager wanting to be nothing like my teenage counterparts.

I would abstain from sex. I would be the best friend everyone came to talk to. I would be the best big

sister. Not only did I feel I did not have a lot of time, I also could not live with disappointing my parents.

I did not break curfew.

I stopped the writing there. I do not think I will open my book this way, but I do think this powerful.

How do we define the life we have here on Earth? And how to do we reconcile that our time here is finite?

For me the answer is the Father, The Son, and The Holy Spirit. But I wonder what it is for others?