I watch this, and it all comes right back.  Trembling, quaking rage.  Good.  It’s a consolation to know that I’m still human – at least a little.  Please, God, let me never become like the blunted, impotent wretches of western civilization, self-righteously indifferent to evil, desensitized, unable to sort reality from the flickershow.

Now that the Obama regime’s plans are coming to full, open fruition, and we can expect the Caliphate to begin launching major attacks in the West at any time, there is a lesson we should take from 911 dispatch tapes like that of Kevin Cosgrove.  If you find yourself in a situation wherein death is near, by all means, call 911 or anything that you know will be recorded – even if it is your own voicemail.  And then use that time and the fact that you are being recorded to talk to the people you love, and to pray.  Tell your family and friends how much you love them.  Tell your enemies that you forgive them.  Tell God that you are sorry for all of your sins not only because you don’t want to go to hell, BUT BECAUSE YOU LOVE HIM AND YOU KNOW THAT YOUR SINS OFFENDED HIM, WHO IS PERFECT GOOD AND INFINITE LOVE.

“The Grace of a Happy Death” that we pray for in the Fourth Glorious Mystery of the Rosary (Our Lady’s Assumption into Heaven), for some, might just be the consolation of dying knowing that we died with the Love of God and of Neighbor on our lips.  If it is recorded, so much the better.

And, it seems to me, that we should indeed “live like we are dying” in this sense.  Tell your loved ones that you love them.  Attempt to make an act of perfect contrition every day.  Acknowledge every day that it could all end tomorrow.  When I went on my pilgrimage to Rome back in ARSH 2012, on the last evening I sat for quite a while in the neighborhood church after Mass and tried to memorize and drink in as much as I could – the altarpiece, the architecture, the pews, the smell, the way the sound carried.  I did the same thing when I got back to my hotel – I went and sat on the terrace which overlooked St. Peter’s Basilica and just stared at it.   And while I was terribly sad to leave, I was consoled by the fact that I had “said my goodbye”.  I do this action of taking a last look and saying a silent goodbye – just in case – to places and people now quite a lot.  And while it may sound macabre to the decadent post-Christian, post-American ear, it is no such thing.  I reckon this might be a little bit of what is meant by the term “detachment”.  As you can see, in this sense, to be detached is the opposite of indifference or aloofness.  I can’t imagine how it could be bad to internally take leave of those we love as if it is for the last time, and then to greet them internally as if we never expected to see them again.  And then when and if the “real deal” happens, we will already know what to say and how to say it.

Rest in peace, Kevin Cosgrove and all the others.