The Dying Wasp.

I once saw a wasp, with its stinger already pulled out.

Walking back-and-forth along the window seal trying desperately to reach outside.

I wanted to help it in its struggle, but felt that my interference would only cause more pain.

And so I watched as the wasp walked back-and-forth, then stopped to clean itself.

And as I watched for more than minutes he suddenly stopped or maybe was resting?

And it stopped, as if waiting for death to come.

And in that moment I knew that it's the memory of being outside that was more important in its last and final moments.

Death will come whether we want to or not, but its the memories that we have from the memories that we leave that will distinguish whether or not our death ends in pain, or ends in knowing our final wishes.