Mesa Musings:

Probably the last thing on former NFL quarterback Steve McNair’s mind 11 days ago as he slumbered on his couch was eternity.

What could possibly have caused him to contemplate his mortality at that time? He was young, strong, rich and handsome. The world was his oyster. Yet, he never awoke from that nap.

“C’est la vie — expect the unexpected,” says the cynic. Those words bring no comfort.

McNair’s girlfriend, police say, cruelly put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger as he slept.

The bullet seared a path through his brain, extinguishing a promising life.

I’m guessing that McNair never knew what hit him. One moment he was dreaming of quarterback bootlegs and nickel packages; the next he had crossed the threshold and was standing in vibrantly hued transcendence next to the One who created him.

How does one process such an image? I’m at a loss.

I’m not here to judge Mr. McNair. That’s not the purpose of this column. McNair’s pastor said at last week’s memorial: “What I do know about this man was that he loved God though he was just like us: imperfect. But he knew God.”

I believe that. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, Christ said. I have no stones.

But, what I am saying is there’s a lesson to be learned from this tragedy: Life is ephemeral.

Though we like to think we’re in control, we’re not. We know not what awaits us around the next corner. Steve McNair certainly didn’t. Though pure speculation on my part, I’d bet he had no clue as to what actually befell him.

I had a friend, Dr. Justin Colyar, who died in 1986 in a similar fashion — and his death has always troubled me.

No warning. One moment you’re sleeping, the next you’re a new resident of a vast and unbounded eternity.

Jay was not shot by an addled girlfriend. He was engaged in one of life’s mundanities.

He was sleeping. He went to bed and didn’t wake up. Doctors speculated that he died of a heart attack in his sleep — at 46!

Jay, a much loved and talented OCC music professor for 22 years — and an extraordinary pianist and organist — was taken from us in a heartbeat, so to speak.

The campus was stunned and heartbroken.

We citizens of Western cultures are taught to face our accusers. We endeavor to face our enemies. We strive to face our fears. It seems patently unfair, then, that we’re often not allowed to face the approach of our greatest adversary — death.

Or, perhaps it’s a blessing.

In reverie, we may imagine ourselves going over a cliff in a car in slow motion. “Dear Lord,” we cry out in the instant between liftoff and impact, “forgive me…take me!” Those words bring some comfort, and closure. I’m guessing Steve McNair had no time to express similar thoughts.

When I was a small boy, my father taught me to dive off a pier in Newport Bay.

He had me stand with my toes curled over the edge. I’d clasp my hands, put them above my head and bend toward the water. I was scared. I’d remain in that position for an interminable period of time.

Finally, he’d give me a nudge on the backside, and I’d usually end up jumping feet-first into the water. I wanted to enter the water at a moment of my choosing. Yet I had trouble actually reaching that moment. Dad had to intervene.

Dying in your sleep is a little like being pushed into the ocean before you’re ready — though the consequences are far weightier!

Come to think of it, death rarely anticipates a time of convenience for anyone. If it did, no one would die. Death sets up ambushes.

Steve McNair didn’t deserve to enter eternity in the manner he did. Neither did my dear friend, Jay Colyar.

When they drifted off to sleep, both had expectations of awaking. They didn’t. They were ambushed.

I reckon it’s important to make our Creator’s acquaintance now, before we’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. Otherwise, it might lead to an uncomfortable midnight tête-à-tête.

JIM CARNETT lives in Costa Mesa. His column runs Wednesdays.