Ah, Death.
My old enemy. My old friend. Although it has been a while since we have done battle, I am sure you remember me.
The 21 year old kid whose father you so rudely snatched away unexpectedly. Who then went on to devote his life to saving lives, so he at least could save someone else's father. Or son, or daughter, or wife, or, in fact, anyone who could be snatched away from your grim scythe. I feel I can say that I fought a good fight. There are many fine people walking the earth today that, except for me, would be in your realm. I hope that I am right in saying that I was a real thorn in your side. I tried my best to be just that, every day I spent in the Emergency Room. I am particularly proud of one time; we coded this fairly young man for over an hour in the ER. When he was finally stabilized enough to go to the ICU, and they wheeled his gurney out of the room, you could still see exactly where it had been, its' outline marked by the detritus of the fight; containers of cardiac drugs, IV boxes, paper wrappings of sterile instruments, discarded gloves; everything but ammo boxes and cartridge cases. I had reservations about the mental functioning of this man, so next day I went to the ICU to see how he was. He was sitting up in bed, laughing, with this beautiful young woman sitting next to him on his bed (in shocking violation of hospital policy), and he had his hand on her thigh! How this must have pained you! How I exulted!!
Not that our relationship was entirely adversarial. There were times when I welcomed you into the room to take a patient whose time had come. Whose pain was too much for them to bear anymore. Or whose brain was so badly damaged that such life that they could have had would not be truly human. Or, tragically, had come into this world far too early.
But this time, you come not as a friend; you have truly wronged me; you have wronged all of us. James Mattis was a wonderfully kind man, a courteous, conciliatory voice of reason. A generous man who provided each of his customers with a product that James had inspected personally. Further, James included with the customer's knife a check for 10% of the transaction price, made out to the customer's favorite charity.
Death, I can see why you singled him out for premature removal. He was simply doing too much good in the world. I can see your smiling rictus there in the corner, content with your 'victory.' Well, I am happy to inform you that your celebration is premature. You have failed. James, and the good he wrought, is still with us. And will always be.
As long as his memory lives within each of us. As long as his words remain in print for others to read anew. For as long as someone quotes, 'trial by internet always ends in mistrial.' For as long as the lives saved or prolonged and made more comfortable, by the donations made to the many charities affected by him. So long as there is one person who has a knife sold by James Mattis, and rememembers with reverence the great man who provided it, James is not dead. If, along with sugarplums, there dances in a child's mind the image of a nine inch double-barbed Rambotron Ninja Deathmonger (tm), James lives on.
So, slink from the room, Death, and know the bitter taste of defeat. You have made a great mistake; you have created a martyr. One whose memory will live on stronger now that he is gone than when he was alive.
Death, I long ago lost my fear of you. Now I spit at your feet and laugh in your teeth. Begone from this place; it is true as said in the Bible, 'Death hath no more dominion over him.'
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