Will to Live

What the Dying Teach Us About Staying Alive

My grandmother stayed with my mother for thirteen years before she died. She was a rich and rewarding presence for our entire family and for anyone who spent time with her. Even today, family members still quote her in conversation. She was an incredible and brave woman.

One morning she was up early, moving about the house and talking to herself. As I walked toward the kitchen, I could hear her knocking things off the table, saying aloud, “Why am I still here? Why am I still here?” At ninety years old, I didn’t fully understand what she meant. But after my own encounters with cancer and heart issues, I’m beginning to understand just how courageous she really was.

How is your will to live?

King Solomon once said, “The end of a thing is better than its beginning” (Ecclesiastes 7:8). He wasn’t dismissing beginnings; he was honoring endurance. The true measure of life isn’t the excitement of starting, but the courage to stay with it. When a life is lived all the way through—patiently, honestly, and faithfully—it reveals something deeper and truer than enthusiasm ever could.

That’s why the wisdom of the dying carries such weight. They aren’t speculating. They’re finishing. And in doing so, they teach the rest of us how to stay alive.

Recently, I’ve been listening to a deeper voice—one that speaks from the edge of life itself. Hospice workers often say that those nearing the end are not merely dying; they are living. With clarity sharpened by limited time, perspective shifts. Fear loosens its grip. What matters rises. What doesn’t quietly falls away.

The prayer of the Psalmist feels especially close: “Teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” Those who are finishing well are doing just that. They are living with the end in mind—and in doing so, they offer us the mature version of life. Not hurried. Not distracted. Not pretending. Just true.

Closing Blessing

May we learn before time forces the lesson.
May we choose presence over possession, gratitude over grasping, and people over things.
May we shift from I have to live to I get to live—not someday, but now.

And when our own evening comes, may it find us still living—
still loving, still listening, still giving—
until the very last breath.

How is your will to live—today?

Grace to you,
Cedric
Traditionalwriter@yahoo.com

1 Comment


AHARRIS - February 13th, 2026 at 5:18am

Great message

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