On top of the sky is the place that you go if you’ve done nothing wrong
And down in the ground is the place that you go if you’ve been a bad boy
-The Who, John Entwistle,1970
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The idea of hell used to terrify me when I was a boy. It was the ultimate deterrent to all potential misdeeds. I had a series of boyhood dreams where I found myself at my own personal Judgement Day and I found myself cast downward, forever damned in the hereafter. There were times, other times where I even swore I saw the fires of Hades thrusting upwards from the ground. Maybe I had an overactive imagination, or maybe I was on to something. The world may never know.
Now I’m older, middle aged, and my notion of what hell is or hell isn’t has changed. But with every close member of my family who has passed, I wonder, even now, are they in heaven or in hell? My uncle died midway last week and I met with his cheery dysfunctional family, awkwardly paired together, as we all do at funerals, desperate for something reverent or good to say about the recently deceased. But aside from those with rose-colored glasses, how can you sanitize the life of someone like him? Why do we always give people who are sinful at best, selfish at worst the benefit of the doubt? Likely to prevent fist-fights, but isn’t that a little hypocritical?
“There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, “Thy will be done,” and those to whom God says, in the end, “Thy will be done.” All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek, find. To those who knock, it is opened.”-C.S. Lewis
When it comes my time to die, don’t whitewash my legacy. I’ve made my mistakes, bushels of them. I won’t be there when it comes time to walk astride the podium after the minister has said a few biblical platitudes and cute stories. Talk about my sarcastic tongue and how much I loved to bitch and moan. Oh, there’s good in there, too, but I’m hardly a saint. I couldn’t pretend to be perfect. My name will never grace a major publication or name a building designed for the less fortunate. I’m going to be obscure the whole of my life and I’ve come to terms with it.
The deceased is equally obscure, at least to most of society. His alcoholism and frequent inebriation rendered him an eight-year-old boy. When he wasn’t drinking, he was a royal pain in the ass, focused only vaguely on his two children and nephew (me). In fact, he could be downright mean, a homophobic Tea Partier who gave the same lecture once he was liquored up, of course, about the evils of socialism. I regret that I never got a chance to tell him that I was, in fact, a socialist myself. But he never really asked much about me and never really cared enough about me to express any interest or opinion of mine.
By sheer luck, he sired one of two children who was functional. The second has a severe personality disorder and is quite possibly a pathological liar. My first cousin has worn herself out holding the family together, and looks ten years older than she is. My uncle, recently departed, spent four years with severe Alzheimer’s disease, potentially punishment itself. His death was from a stroke and he passed on within a couple of days. This meant that his fortune will pass to his offspring, no longer depleting savings towards keeping a vegetable alive in an assisted living home.
Why do I write this account? Because in all the reminiscing, I discovered more about my uncle than he ever imparted to me or to many, really. Some of it is downright inspiring. Why hide so many notable accomplishments? But I suppose this is what happens when you make money your primary focus and vocation. He was very good at it. Jesus says that you will love God or you will love money. My uncle’s God was money, but it doesn’t do him much good now.
It’s a tragedy, really. The man had so many talents. He could have been a published author. There is so much advice he could have imparted from his financial dealings that would have enriched the coffers of someone else. But it was all about him and his bottom line. Here I am, feeling sorry for him. Does hell exist? Does he see the sum total of his misdeeds now? Ebenezer Scrooge changed before all was too late.
My uncle never got that chance and I doubt he would have even taken it. Even if you’re not religious, take note of the irony. We’re all going to go sooner than later. Give back to your fellow human being. It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture. Watch television with your four year old niece. Bolster the self-confidence of a shy teenager, scared and insecure within himself or herself. These are the things that make us worthwhile people. Money is fine, in its place, but it does not take the place of real time spent together as part of a family. That is the lesson among many that I have learned from this experience.