Over the last two months, I’ve been struggling to make peace with my imminent death. I have no terminal illness; and by and large my family has a history of health. But I began having visions of my own death as I fell asleep several weeks ago—pleasant ways to die, surrounded by family at an old age. I have been terrified of those images, because I can’t seem to grapple with the ideas tha belong to them. Logically, it doesn’t bother me... I firmly believe that death is the needed continuation of life, as death is the greatest appreciator of life. It was my heart that was weak to the fear. I could not stand to think about the lack of control and the overwhelming change of the event. It continues to terrify me.
Yesterday, Mom was explaining to a family friend of ours that the receptionist at the chiropractic clinic we had gone to had died. She had been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in December, and died soon after. It was a quick turnaround, and it was sad because she was a lovely and kind lady. It made me think of the scenarios I had been facing myself—ones that ended in much the same way, knowing it was coming. Imagining the dread she must have felt (though in truth she was much braver than I, and she may have greeted it with gratitude), I conceded that at least that dread would go with everything else. After all, isn’t that the basis of hope?