My problem with death is basically everything but the actual death itself. Dying too soon, dying old, but without fulfillment or love, in terrible ways, or the fact that we cause suffering and death to each other. Also, you’ll hear people mention their fear of being forgotten, but even more tragic, is the fact that many die without even being remembered before they’re gone.
My problem with death isn’t the fear of nothingness or pain or punishment in a frightening afterlife (hell). What I’m spiraling about is the cruel fate of dying in any other fashion than having lived to old age, with love, and a life full of a wide variety of experiences.
If you live long enough, most people eventually learn the hard lesson of grief. The excruciating pain of grief and guilt for the ones that remain is nearly universal, yet often completely isolated from the rest of the world. Your husband that died in old age or your kitten that died too young, no one else knew them or loved them like you did, if at all, and no one will care except for you when they’re gone.
There has been a lot of scientific study and fiction written about the topic of grief, but no matter what we learn or how we express ourselves, death is ultimately uncontrollable, just as existence itself cannot be controlled nor even comprehended. It’s a kind of madness that cannot be reconciled, only accepted.
Death itself is peaceful, but everything surrounding it is relentlessly disturbing.
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