The Taximan's God

Death most often comes to us in sanitized form, suitable for prime-time: 'Today a police officer was killed in the line of duty. Three died in a tragic house fire. Twelve lost to a freak storm. The great man finally succumbed." We are told what happened in prosaic though sterile detail. The obituary and the eulogy address only the survivors and only after the fact. But what of the event itself? What of that moment we all must eventually face? The Taximan's God snatches us from the comfortable distance of our pews and breakfast tables and takes us to the very moment of death, the event horizon that marks the termination of this life. And while there we see that life's furthest edge is not uniform but jagged and surprisingly abrupt. No images of life's many chapters pass before our eyes, no last second regrets or confessions pass our lips, no stuttered prayers lift to heaven. 'Pardon," a smooth voice murmurs from behind, 'do you have the time?" And as we turn to answer we realize we do not. Death takes us in shock to God who is waiting beyond life's terminus. Ready or not.