What Will Take Me Out?

by Donna Poole

Our three oldest children played the “What in Case” game with their dad when he drove them to school in the mornings.

Sometimes the questions were serious, “Daddy, what in case you and Mommy both die? What would happen to us?”

They worried about the free-range chickens they saw near the road. “Daddy, what in case one of those chickens runs into the road and we hit it?”

Most often, though, they laughed as they tried to out do each other with ridiculous questions like, “Hey, Daddy, what in case a plane falls on our car?”

John and I were on our way to one of the many doctor appointments we’ve had in the last month when we started our own half laughing half serious “what in case” conversation.

What in case you die first? What in case I die first?

“Hey, honey,” I said, “sometimes I wonder what will take me out. Do you ever think about that?”

We laughingly discussed some bizarre ways to die; gallows humor runs in our family. Curious, I decided to do a little research on unusual ways to die.

You probably know that most people in the United States die of heart disease or cancer. But some people take far more unusual exits. Allan Pinkerton, who founded the famous detective agency, fell, and bit his tongue. Infection set in, and it took him out.

Basil Brown died of too much of a good thing. In 1974, during a ten-day period, he took 70 million units of Vitamin A, and drank ten gallons of carrot juice. Shot his liver, it did. It turns out too much Vitamin A is as bad for your liver as too much Jack Daniels.

Jack Daniels, yes, the Jack Daniels you think it is, got so angry when he forgot the combination to his safe that he kicked it, mangled his toe, got an infection, and died of blood poisoning. I wonder why that’s not in any of the Jack Daniels commercials.

You’ve heard the catchy tune, “I want a Hippopotamus for Christmas”? Don’t get one. They kill over 300 people every year.

And don’t shake a vending machine either. They’ve killed more than a few people.

Please don’t shop on Black Friday. Greedy shoppers injure and even kill several people each year. I can think of better ways to go out.

You can die by getting hit with a golf ball; that happens, or more often by falling out of bed.

Laughter is good medicine, but don’t overdo that either. Apparently, there’s an entire list of people who’ve died from laughing too hard. But I say there are worse ways to go!

I often tell my family I don’t plan to die of cancer, but I have no idea what will take me out; few of us do. I do wonder what my last words will be if I’m conscious. Being an author, I think it would be funny if my last words could be, “That’s all she wrote.”

There are so many things I’d like to say to my family and friends, paragraphs, and books full of last words, but I don’t imagine at that point I’ll have enough strength left to speak volumes! I guess I hope I can say just this to them, “I love you. Via con Dios—go with God.” That’s what I want for everyone I love, for them to always go on with God.

But it’s not my time to die yet, as far as I know, unless the roof of this century plus old farmhouse suddenly collapses on me. Now that’s one “what in case” John and I didn’t discuss.

“What will take me out?” I asked John. “Hey, maybe we could write a country song about that and get rich.”

It took him about two seconds to start singing his original lyrics to his original tune.

“I don’t know what’s gonna take me out,

But I know who’s gonna take me in!”

(He sang those words three times, the third time in a loud, high falsetto.)

“It was settled long ago,

When my Lord said come to him!”

He looked at me laughing. “That’s the chorus. I don’t have the verse yet. I want to sing it and sit on that box drum thing and play at church.”

“You’re going to get fired from being pastor if you do that. That’s not going to fly in our conservative church.”

He just laughed.

“And,” I warned him, “if you start doing choreography I’m going to get up and walk out.”

He laughed again. He’d been to our grandkids’ school concert the night before and had been impressed with the boy who’d played the box drum and with our first-grade granddaughter’s choreography. He’d even demonstrated it for me. I’m sure it was cute when she did it. But the reenactment by an almost three-quarters of a century old grandpa who’s never danced….

John’s original song was much better than his choreography. The tune and the words stuck in my head. Maybe he does have a million-dollar tune going for him. I know his words have eternal value: “I don’t know what’s gonna take me out, but I know who’s gonna take me in. It was settled long ago when my Lord said come to him!”

I’m impressed, honey. But work on that vibrato! You sound like Tiny Tim!