Our Conflicted Views On Death

Our Conflicted Views On Death

by Mike Pyatt

Mike Pyatt

Since creation mortals have faced the certainty of death. It’s the “great equalizer.” With rare exceptions, most fight “tooth n’ nail” to cling to life. Few societies, absent Judeo Christian underpinnings, extol suicide, notwithstanding Oregon’s, 1997, abominable, ill-named, “Death with Dignity Act.” WWII Japanese Kamikaze pilots considered it an honor to die in combat. Islamic terrorists bank on death to “cash in” on their “bevy of virgins.” Healthcare delivery systems are designed to slow the inevitability of our demise. The bromide on the certainty of death and taxes remind us of this age old, quotidian struggle. Many opt to ignore the subject. Is that palliative?

American’s view on death is conflicted. When a nine year-old bat boy is unexpectedly struck dead by an errant bat, it’s a tragic accident. Octogenarians are applauded for their long life. Tinsel Town has a morose, storied history of suicidal endings. “Charmed lives” gone south, cut short at their own hand. Overdoses play a “leading role” in this all-to-familiar “re-run.” Fewer mourn self-imposed death than the ravages from a Kansas tornado.

Pulitzer and Nobel Prize winning author, Ernest Hemingway, ended his own life, in Ketchum, Idaho, on July 2, 1961, at the wrong end of a shotgun. The world mourned. His fourth wife maintained it was an accident. Few believed it. His physician father took his life at age 57. His granddaughter, Margaux Hemingway, took her’s, on July 1,1996. Genetic disposition? Serial killers like Ted Bundy, most clamored for a hastened death. We morn the loss of our troops, and celebrate the death of our enemy.

Those who’ve lost a loved one report prolonged visceral responses. The cause of the death aggravates the issue. Some recalled a loved one’s “kiss was still on their lips,” or “yesterday‘s touch remained at their finger tips.” Circumstances mitigate misery. A protracted illness, though exhausting, brings a sense of finality. A sigh of relief. The unforeseen death of a daughter or son shocks one’s reverie for years. Most commiserate with those left behind. We who’ve escaped such loss offer compassion. The pain is vicariously palpable. One can sincerely, though inelegantly, utter, “I’ll pray for you.”

Last year, the confluence of two major news events revealed the cavalier, calloused stance on the life of the unborn, juxtaposed to that of the life of a lion named Cecil, from a Zimbabwe animal reserve. The surfacing of videos exposing Planned Parenthood affiliated executives, smugly sipping wine, while haggling over harvesting and selling body parts from unborn babies, like two mechanics hawking auto parts at a junkyard. It outraged those who love the unborn.

The majority of the 24/7 news cycle largely ignored the plight of the unborn. One network devoted eleven minutes that week on the Planned Parenthood debacle, while allocating nearly four times that amount to Cecil the lion. Late Night host, Jimmy Kimmel, choked back tears  bemoaning the “senseless killing of a lion.” A touching, percipient charade. Aging silver screen star, Mia Farrow, tweeted out the Minneapolis dentist’s address, who bagged the “beloved lion”  intended to expose big-game hunter, Dr. Walter Palmer, for his “unforgivable deed.” Animal activists internationally mourned the fate of Cecil. PETA called for Palmer’s “hanging.” Surely mourners hummed “Born Free” at Cecil’s wake. Find “Cecil Beanie Babies,” at your nearest retailer.

How’d we get here? Moving “heaven and earth” to save a beached whale, but not lifting a finger to save the life of the unborn. Our 44th former President, Planned Parenthood’s lapdog,  conveniently failed to launch a DOJ investigation into the potentially, unlawful sale of dismembered body parts. Like most supporters of “women’s health,” Obama apparently championed the death of the unborn. How else can one explain his strident call for Planned Parenthood’s survival “at any cost?” Vowing his unswerving support to ensure that it’s “around for his daughters.” Is he willing to sacrifice his future grandchildren on the “altar of choice?”

The outcry that “black lives matter” seems discordantly hollow considering nearly 35% of abortions are black babies. Blogger Michael Johnson asked, “Where’s the next Martin Luther King?” His self reply was eerily haunting, “Look in that pile of aborted black babies.” African American annihilation? By contrast, the KKK’s nearly philanthropic.

In recent history Americans made space in their homes for pets. We’ve drifted precipitously from pet owners, to pet parents. Dollars expended for “pet health” is staggering, rivaling allocated dollars for dependent children. Some pet parents would raid their 401(k) on a face lift for their Shar-Pei. If Flipper was alive, he’d given Hillary a run, as the “Animal Party candidate.” Female celebrities clamor to pose in the raw, attempting to line PETA’s coffers. They’d rather “wear nothing than animal fur.” Anything for non-humans. Staged videos of caged canines and felines are designed to tug at the heart-string, while lifting one’s wallet.

Where are the videos of dismembered, discarded, dead unborn babies found in clinics? The progressive media won’t permit it. They’ve a vested interest in keeping the public in the dark about the truth that takes place in those slaughter houses. “It would be too repugnant,” abortion supporters insist. Perhaps it’s their inappetancy to see it. They understand why. Some recall, it was the relentless photos and footage of carnage that decidedly shifted the tide of public opinion against the Viet Nam conflict.

Obscured in this fog of divisiveness is the fact of death. It’s a statistic until it knocks on our front door. Discussion produces more heat than light. Though we have no sway over the grave, Evangelicals rejoice in the good news in Scripture regarding death and the resurrection. “The last enemy that will be abolished is death.” “O death, where is your sting?” O Hades where is your victory?” That’s it. Like the removal of the stinger from a bee. Who’d fear a tiny apis without a stinger? What do you think?

Mike Pyatt’s a Natrona County resident. His email address’s roderickstj@yahoo.com


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