The best writing is writing what you know.

A few days ago, I had a friend read my blog. The first thing they said was, "Can you write something hopeful?"

The thing is, I'm always thinking about death. This is nothing new for me. It's why my funeral has been paid for, for the last 5 years; it's why I never planned out my wedding as a kid; it's been a part of my life forever. I even have the unfortunate ability to know when someone is about to die. My spirit knows and knows how it will affect those who are survived. I hate that ability, actually. My mom is the same way, she hears church bells when someone is about to die. I just get a feeling.

When I was in middle school, I was on the speech team. I knew I could speak well, I'd been doing Easter speeches, welcomes and occasions since I was a toddler. We were allowed to choose our own speeches and plays to act. I always chose something dark. It's what I know best. It's like a comfortable t-shirt you put on after a long day of work. My favorite one act play was about a girl who attempted suicide. She wasn't successful but she was in a coma. The play is her speaking with her death angel and her conscious to decide whether she was going fight to live or release and die. She only has a limited amount of time to decide. She's being timed; when the alarm goes off she must decide her fate. The play ends with the timer going off and the curtain coming down. We never learn of her decision.

I relate to death. I relate to distructon. As a kid my favorite show was Touched By An Angel mostly because of Della Reese but also because I could explore the death angel, Andrew and what it meant to escort someone into the afterlife. I was fascinated by that compassion and care Andrew showed people as he took them to the afterlife. He never showed any judgement as to why the person died; that was irrelevant. He just wanted to make the process as peaceful as possible. I love that.

Even tonight I woke up from a dream where a kid had to decide if he were going to live or if he was going to sacrifice himself to save his little sister from a head in collision. The camera of my mind then turned away to watch the mom get the phone call that there's been an accident. Even though it was only a dream, I woke up screaming "tell me" because I was the mom in the dream but I was also the little boy. And even though I was both characters I still don't know what the boy decided to do. But it rattled me so bad that I'm awake at 1:32 am rewriting this blog.

Can I write something hopeful? I'm quite sure I can. But isn't it better to write what you know?