On Death and Dying

I am going to preface this post by saying that I absolutely do not want bad things to happen to the ones I love. Hell, that's why they are called "loved ones", right?

I've been thinking a lot lately about the inevitability of death. I haven't quite gotten to the fatalistic point, but I'm feeling very, I don't know, laid back about the whole thing. Here's what I've got.

People die. Once we reach a certain age, we know this. Some people deal with death earlier than others, or more frequently, but at some point it greets us all. My grandpa is 93 years old and while he is in pretty good shape for a nonagenarian, I know that sooner rather than later, he is going to be gone. I will miss him but I will not rage and scream about the unfairness of it all.

OK sure, it may be easier to face the death of an old person or a terminally sick person. How would I feel if something catastrophic happened to one of my friends, or my parents? I'm not going to be specific about the fatal incident because I'm a little superstitious about that sort of thing. Anyway, something fatal happens to someone I care about. Yes, I'm sad and I cry and I wish it hadn't happened. However, if the incident in question hadn't happened, if it was thwarted in some manner, it doesn't confer immortality upon said loved one. Follow me? They are still going to die one day. This isn't to say that I wouldn't like as much time as possible with my loved ones.

Another thing I've been thinking about is how I don't think people are so much afraid of death as they are afraid of dying. It's the anticipation, the possibility of pain that frightens them. Everyone wants to go quietly in their sleep, or in some other instantaneous, pain-free way. Also, it's the idea of leaving behind unfinished things. I'll tell you something; if you're dead, it doesn't matter anymore. I don't care what it is. You. are. dead. It is the people left behind who have the tough job of it. They are the ones who have to clean up the mess and deal with the shit.

I'm sure by this point you've convinced yourself that I am an unfeeling monster who doesn't deserve loved ones. This is not true. I feel things. I also feel that it is useless to rage against something we have very little control over. That way lies ulcers.

Looking back over this I realize that it could seem like I believe in fate and predestination. I don't. I don't believe that each person is born with the day they die written down somewhere. Death is inevitable, but the method of delivery varies.