Death’s gotta be easy, ’cause life is hard

I wasn’t one of those kids growing up who was shielded from the realities of life. My parents and family did their best to expose me to a wide array of things, both good and bad. And they didn’t shelter me so much that I wouldn’t encounter real life experiences.

Racism. Prejudice. Sickness. Death.

I’ve been to funerals. I’ve watched people, young and old, get sick, suffer and eventually die. Just this past week, a young man I knew growing up was executed by lethal injection for a murder he committed when we were in high school, some 11 years ago.

Death is inevitable. Those of us who are of the Christian faith understand that our day is coming but we believe that the casket is not our final home. We hope that if we live right, there’s room for us in heaven. At least, that’s what we say we believe.

Anyone who says they’ve never thought about death is lying. We all at one point or another have wondered about death as it relates to us. When, where, how? We’ve dreamt of our funerals. Who will show up and what will they say about us.

For me, it’s something that, even though I had some exposure to, still used to scare me. Depsite my religious and practical beliefs, what would really happen when I took my last breath. Would it be just like an unconscious state like sleep? Because after all, sleep IS the cousin of death.

To be clear, it’s not something that was constantly on my mind. But from time to time, I did think about it.

But as I got older, the realities of the real world set in and it was revealed to me that now that I’m on my own and not living off mom and dad that life is not easy. Sure we have times when things are going smooth. Finances are in good shape, we’re in sync with our significant others and we’re in good health. Life is good then. No worries. But if you’ve lived long enough you understand that those good times only last for a while.

I am a witness.

Lately, I’ve been struggling with a lot of different issues. I’ve been trying to maintain a tight budget, but continue to struggle. I’ve been doing my best to treat the SO right, yet it’s not good enough. I’ve been trying to look out for me, but yet still question things. One thing I pride myself on is the fact that I can face anything — I’ll never give up. But I’d be lying if I said to anyone that these struggles have been easy for me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t become depressed and wonder if I’d be better off dead.

Because I have.

Sometimes I feel like Biggie: “I’m sick of niggas lying, I’m sick of bitches hawkin’, matter of fact, I’m sick of talkin’

But in spite of the hardships, I have to believe things are going to get better. I love and believe in myself too much to let things bring to the lowests of lows. I’ll make it through.

And plus, I’m dying inside thinking about what my momma would think.