The Executioner and My Obituary: A Symphony of Shadows

 The Executioner and My Obituary: A Symphony of Shadows

The weight of despair enveloped my shoulders like an iron shroud, and my heartbeat reverberated through the stillness, a relentless drum echoing the undeniable truth: fear had reared its head. Dried tears lingered on the precipice of release, as my heart whispered, "Your odyssey is but a nascent flame waiting to ignite!" The cataclysmic news hung in the air like a thick fog, morphing into a silent, soul-crushing executioner. I peered up at the glowing screen of the television, where the stock market plummeted like Icarus from the sun. My mind, a blank canvas, stared unseeing as a freight train of emotion thundered by, mocking me with its piercing whistle: “Does it even matter?”

The nurse beckoned me forward, her voice a lifeline in the turbulent sea of my thoughts. "Would you like your wife to accompany you?" The specter of my impending fate loomed larger than life, and I felt my insides tighten with fear and confusion, whispering, "What is happening to me?" This tempest of emotions transcended my own anguish—how would they navigate life without me? Perhaps this reflection was birthed from a deep-rooted sense of value, but it was a compelling reason to cling to existence. Yes, my radiant wife, my darling daughter Lupe and her two precious children, King and Prince. If there were a solitary thread weaving my purpose on this vast tapestry of life, it was this: to provide them with shelter, nourishment, and love.

But reality awaited me, stark and unforgiving. On that fateful day, September 6th, 2022, at the chilling hour of 10:00 AM, my death sentence was cruelly pronounced. The faceless executioner, an ageless wraith, strode in like an ominous storm cloud, brandishing the double-edged sword known as Cancer—a harbinger of doom that sliced through the fabric of my being.

With a grip as relentless as fate itself, the executioner raised that horrific sword above my head, a monstrous shadow darkening my resolve. My heart, resembling a weeping willow, wept silently for lost dreams, as a voice echoed within me: "This sword possesses a malevolence that transcends mere physicality, speaking through the anguish it inflicts upon the innocent." My knees buckled, and I implored, "Lord God Almighty, drench me in mercy!" The tales of countless souls lost in their battles with this merciless fiend flickered in my mind, stark reminders that within the grim statistics, one in every seven men falls prey to the headsman's blade.

In the weeks that followed, a fierce struggle erupted within me—a wrestling match with the specter of death. I had reassured my wife that death would envelop me gently, as predictable as the tide, dictated by my habits and lifestyle. Yet, my demons of loneliness and melancholy often propelled me toward the precipice of despair—a laboratory of ruin where hope whispers but the grim autopsy of existence looms large.

Einstein once mused, "I live in that solitude, which is painful in youth but delicious in the years of maturity." Life has always been a labyrinth, and in my youthful folly, I chose paths forged from emotional intellect yet dictated by capricious forces beyond my grasp. Be they folly or wisdom, these trails have shaped my existence, and as I've aged, I've learned to navigate them.

The Apostle Paul penned, "Whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap" (Galatians 6:7), reflecting the truth: every path I walked bore its own fruit. I pondered why we deceive ourselves into believing that we can give less but gain more—absurdity! Yet here I stand; a cartographer of my own fate, my imagination sketching the routes I've traveled, often derailed by external energies that sought to mislead. These detours, unforgiving and distorted, often lead me to a grave I never wished to unearth.

Each journey carries weight, but paradoxically, it is the journey itself—the obstacles faced—that defines the essence of life. It's a series of overcoming storms, finding meaning in adversity. I’ve come to understand that obstacles are the crucibles of life, the mere presence of which transforms a pathway into an epic saga. What is a journey without trials? It would be a mere stroll, void of the poignant emotions that transform our spirits.

And yet, how can one embrace love without first encountering hate? The obstacles on our paths serve as crucial points of revelation—an understanding of joy that arises only when juxtaposed against sorrow. If one exists in a realm devoid of contrast, they cannot fathom the depth of their own existence. This dualism delicately intertwines with our journeys, revealing truths only discernible when navigating both light and shadow.