I remember the first time I saw Death. The first time I looked at a human being slowly fading in a hospital bed. I was 16. Granddaddy was sick and had been sick for a while, but today was that day. You know the day, when someone calls from the hospital to say, “I think you better skip class, get your sisters out of class, and come see Granddaddy.”

I remember walking into the ICU, and past a curtain to see my Granddaddy. After a few muddled words and several long minutes, I turned to walk out. As I walked towards the exit door, my vision went black and my legs went numb. I can remember catching myself on the door handle like a boxer on the ropes. I remember futilely pushing against the electronically locked door.

Death was overloading my circuits. Short-circuiting my senses. The emergency sirens were screaming.

As a hospital chaplain, I watched the same thing happen to dozens of kids and adults. Their bodies and their words screaming, “How in the Hell is this possible?”

Death is incomprehensible, offensive, overwhelming, and inconceivable. It sucks. It hurts. It robs. It steals. It kills. It sucks.

The incomprehensibility and offensiveness of Death are at the forefront of both of these stories – BUT THEY ARE NOT THE END OF THE STORIES…

TO READ THE REST OF “DEATH IS A HOARDER” CHECK OUT THE MANUSCRIPT.