Do you fear death?

"Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare, all your sins punished!"

I remember the first time I watched Pirates of the Caribbean and heard Davy Jones utter those words- it scared the hell out of me. I have always had a ridiculous fear of dying. Thinking about facing my Maker really makes my stomach turn. My father-in-law always talks about dying- he'd like nothing better than to wake up in Paradise tomorrow. He drives me bat-crap insane with it, mostly because it irks me that he can be so unafraid of something he knows nothing about. He has talked about dying more and more lately- it's starting to really get under my skin. He has me thinking about dying all the time. The pathetic thing is, I wish I were more like my father-in-law. Think about it- if you were not afraid to die, then what would you ever have to be afraid of? I would love to have that kind of unreserved backbone.

One of my favorite Shakespearean passages is Hamlet's Soliloquy:

To be, or not to be--that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--

No more--and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--

To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprise of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,

The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons

Be all my sins remembered.

I like this passage because I can relate with Hamlet. Dying sounds good and all until I ponder the uncertainty of it, and whether or not I am going to make it to Heaven. How do I know that I remembered to confess all of my sins? How do I know that I confessed them right? How do I know if I made up for them enough? I have sometimes told God, "Look, if I'm going to Hell anyway, just take my life now and quit torturing me." Well, I'm still alive, so either God is ignoring me, or there is still a chance I could make it to Heaven. There have been times in days past that I might have taken my own life, had it not been for my firm belief that I would go straight to Hell. I am ashamed to admit that I even gave it a half-hearted effort a couple of times. I thought nobody would miss me- I felt everyone would be better off had I never been born. I still feel that way sometimes. I am no George Bailey. I know that I have not affected one person for the good. I feel like I have to apologize to my kids for bringing them into this horrible world and for ruining their lives. That's a pretty low feeling.