I only just realized that this coming Wednesday marks the end of Lent, and the beginning of the Final Days of Christ.
And I realized that I have not prepared for death as I should.
Even though essays and exams have the effect of making wish that I were dead, they do seem to prepare me for dying. (Or any other type of suffering other than misery over grades.)
But this avoidance of sorrow is not exclusive to me: T.S. Eliot wrote on the this as a predicament of modern man.
We live with extremes, and so go out with not a bang but a whimper.
But there is one person who I can still try to imitate; the woman who was simply a companion, watching and comforting as her son was put to death so cruelly. Even if I cannot at this time embrace my own cross fully, maybe I can be the comrade and lover to Christ this Good Friday.