The Third (and Final) Death

The older you get, the more you go to funerals.

That might be a cliché (OK, it is a cliché), but it’s true. A guy I was talking to at one of those funerals said, “When you’re a kid you see all your friends and family at birthday parties. Then everyone gets together for graduation. Then it’s weddings. Eventually, it’s funerals.”

I guess I’m starting into the funeral stage of get-togethers.

The preacher at this most recent funeral threw out one of those t-shirt, wall-poster sounding phrases that the church loves. He said “if you’re only born once, you die twice. But if you’re born twice, you only die once.” Cute. And I get what he was trying to say. Of course, Jesus also said “if you believe in me you will never die,’’ but why let a little scripture get in the way of a good catch-phrase? (But then again, he also said "even if you die, you will live again,'' so there is that).

Actually, I was thinking about this whole dying thing. Somewhere in the past – some reading or late-night radio show or some article I came across or maybe it was something I thought up while making the drive from the Gulf Coast to Birmingham on a Friday night or Birmingham to the Gulf Coast on a Sunday – I came across this interesting theory about dying.

Each of us dies three times.

The first time we die is when our heart stops and the brain ceases to function and the organs fail. Whatever life our bodies had is over. We can no longer be heard.

The second time is when we’re put into the ground. Until then, even though our body is no longer functioning, we’re still visible. It's when we’re finally put in the ground and dirt thrown on our faces and we’re no longer visible that we suffer the second death. We can no longer be seen.

The third and final death comes when enough time has passed that no one remembers us. That may be quick or lingering … when you think of the famous people who are still remembered, as opposed to those ordinary people whose names are long forgotten. We can no longer be remembered.

It makes sense in a way. I mean, as long as we're remembered, we are "alive" in a sense. We even say "we're keeping the memory alive."

This idea kind of intrigues me. I once thought of writing a book with this as the premise, following a guy through all three stages of death. The first two are pretty quick, of course. He dies, he lies in state and people come to see him one last time. Then they shut the coffin and put him in the ground, his body to be seen no more.

The real fun beings waiting on the third 'death.' I had this guy going to this “holding area’’ for lack of a better term; kind of the idea of “Abraham’s bosom” where the beggar Lazarus goes after dying, or the concept of Biblical She'ol (Hades in the Greek) where the righteous dead await Judgment Day. Or maybe it was like a big library on a Saturday morning, sort of "The Breakfast Club" for the waiting dead.

But in my version, the holding area held everyone. People came in confused, of course, wondering if this was heaven. Every time someone new entered, everyone else stopped and looked to see who it was. And the new guy kind of walked around, looking for something familiar. Maybe he found a friend or a relative, who could then tell him about the place. And even while he's there, being told what this room is, a door at the far end opens and everyone stops, expectantly, looking at whoever comes through. That person, like the NFL Commissioner on Draft Day, calls out a name and someone gets up and heads to the door. It's deadly quiet, until the door is shut again, and then everyone goes back to doing whatever they were doing before.

At first – particularly for those who knew they were facing eternal punishment – it was a way to put off the inevitable, like a guy on death row. You’d have a part of the room where the famous evil people like Hitler and Stalin and Pol Pot and maybe some of the old Roman Ceasars and Genghis Khan hang out; over in another corner are the great philosophers and thinkers; still another place is made up of people like the Apostle Paul and John the Baptist and St. Thomas and Martin Luther … You get the idea.

And of course the ones who expected to be admitted quickly into the presence of the Lord are disappointed, while the evil ones laugh at punishment deferred. Imagine the surprise of those waiting "to be absent from the body means to be present with the Lord."

My guy could even spend some time wandering around, either talking to or listening in on each group, hearing the varied conversations that could take place.

But every now and then one of the group is called out and gets to go on to the next place, signifying that his memory has been finally wiped out among those alive on earth; imagine that might be disappointment to be forgotten, but also relief at being allowed to leave the holding place. Even those trying to put off the inevitable might inevitably get tired of waiting, ready to get on with whatever comes next.

Then some complete unknown – a homeless beggar – comes through the first door and doesn't have time to look around, because as steps in the other door opens and his name is immediately called out and he passes right through to his eternal reward, because no one on earth even knew who he was when he was alive, much less has cause to remember him once he was gone, proving the Biblical concept of “the last shall be first.”

Over time, people like Paul and the Disciples and the Saints come to terms with waiting, knowing that as long as they are remembered their message has a chance to bring others into eternal life. Meanwhile, the evil ones desperately hope they continue to be remembered to keep from being sent into eternal darkness.

It had a great ending, too. Because for those who do not believe in God, the last words they hear are Matthew 7:23, “I never knew you. Away from me, you evildoers,” meaning that after all the people of earth have forgotten them, so to does God forget them. Then and only then are they truly dead, once and for all.

It was going to be a book, then a novella, then a short story, and now just another idea in a blog because I don’t have the patience to work on that long of a project.


I read Steve Jobs' biography "Jobs" some time ago. It's an amazing life story. He was born the same year that I was, but that's about all we have in common. He truly changed the world, yet he also died very early because death has no respect for what you've done or the impact you've had.

Shortly after his first diagnosis with cancer, he gave a speech at Stanford and said: "Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. ..."

Or, as someone else once said, "Death begins with life's first breath. And life begins at the first touch of death.”

OK, too much thinking about death. So I'll end this with a story.

Three guys are sitting around talking about death. The question comes up: "When you are in your casket, friends and family are mourning over you, what would you like to hear them say about you?"

The first guy immediately responds, "I would like to hear them say that I was a great friend and family man."

The second guy says, "I would like to hear that I was a wonderful husband and made a difference with a positive influence on all who knew me."

The last guy thinks a minute and replies, "I'd like to hear them say...... LOOK, HE'S BREATHING!!!!!"