I made my way out to the little strip of lawn in front of my office, illuminated by my store front window light and one street light across the way in front of the local glass shop.  I really don’t remember how I got into a sitting position on the curb, but there I was. It was as if I had resigned to be picked up with the trash, I was on the curb and waiting to die fingering the keys to office. My chest pain had become almost unbearable. Each heart beat would cause a radiating pain down my arm.

I had been living in our little town for a while and had never heard a siren.  No police chases, no fire calls, and no ambulance runs had ever pierced the sweet serenity of our little town.  Well at least until now.  The hospital was about two miles away and I could hear the first blast of that industrial strength distress signal.  It was not one of those electronic sirens you hear today, but one that had to wind up to reach the optimal pitch and only wavered when a corner was turned as the sound bounced off walls and buildings. The siren was attached to the top of a station wagon style ambulance that had been re-purposed from being a hearse from the local mortuary.  I could imagine all the sleepy folks in town being awakened at the scream of the siren which most likely had been not heard but once in a blue moon.

As it got closer I was less and less concerned with my state.  The anxiety was going away. Help was almost here. Almost, in a surreal, out of body experience, I realized I could be dead in a matter of moments.

New thoughts entered my mind: I thought about my wife, of roast pork, kids, the little church I had attended last Sunday, and God.  All the things you would normally think about as you faced the abyss of an approaching blackness.  I also thought of the minutia in my life; did I lock up my office completely, were the lights turned off, were my shoes tied, tomorrow as garbage day and I wondered why the house next door had painted their screen door red. It was at this point I experienced an epiphany. It was a lesson to be learned.

It really didn’t matter.  The world would continue.  I thought I was going to die, but it really didn’t matter.  At that moment, facing the end, I understood the importance or rather the lack of importance of my life.  I was content in my home.  I was content with how my kids had been raised.  I was content with the affect I had made on this little town.  My life, while seeming so important to me was of little consequence to the bigger picture.  The phrase that kept coming to mind was that was quoted to me by my father, “don’t sweat the small stuff and it is all small stuff.”

I guess the lesson learned is not to worry about that future that much.  We all are going to come to this same place someday.

Oh, of course there is a concern about our loved ones and all that I would have missed, but in reality I had no control over that.  We are just who we are.  An in that moment of time I realized enough is enough.  It was not about my aspirations or my plans but it was about being who I was.

I cannot be you.  I cannot be even be what you expect.  I can only be me.  When approaching the end of life, it is not about a comparison between whom I could have been and who I ended up to be.  The only regret is not being the best me I could have been.  It is the lessons we have learned along the path.  It is the small nudges He has given me along the self-conceived path to move me to a better understanding of who I needed to be.  It is not up to you or anyone else to dictate or judge me.  If this is all there is, then so be it.  If there is something more then I was ready.

The two ambulance attendants placed me on the stretcher amid my pain induced fog.  The lights were flashing and out of the corner of my eye was my wife waving me goodbye.  I passed out.  No bright light, no special warmth, just darkness and pain.

By the way I didn’t die. “Lesson taught and a lesson learned.”