A few days ago, I read about a 34-year-old father in Texas who was killed by a lightning strike in his driveway. At the time of the jolt, he was holding the hand of his six-year-old son. The lightning surge traveled through the father’s hand and into the boy, who suffered permanent brain damage and is still in a coma.
This tragic news reminds me why Tibetan Buddhist monks will turn their teacups over each night – a continual reminder that each day could be our last, because nothing is permanent.
The father in Texas had just reached down to grab his son’s hand and he said “I love you, buddy” the instant before the lightning hit.
When my time comes and lightning strikes in whatever form it chooses, I hope my final words are half as meaningful.
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