If I Died


I find myself thinking about life and its meaning. We are placed here for numbered days and expected to make the most of the time spent here. In spite of our knowledge that our time here is numbered, we live in fear of our eventual exit.

One would think that the inevitability of death would make us more accepting of death when it does come. But it has the opposite effect. Have we become so adept at maintaining the elusive control over our lives that the thought of letting go frightens us? Death is part of life.

I’m not afraid of dying in the real sense of the word. I have faced death a few times and literally watched my life flash before my eyes and in those times, I admit, I experienced a momentarily fear but acceptance followed almost immediately. My fear was not for myself but more for the people who would be affected by my passing – my family. Their dreams and expectations for the life that seemed unfinished; but was it really, unfinished?

A common phrase from people who have lost loved ones is always ‘It gets better with time’. Though a painful experience, but the wound caused by the death of a loved one will eventually heal and the scar fade with time.


My question is, If the pain fades, the scars disappear and the treasured memories eradicated with time and the simple act of living, what then is the point of it all? Why fear death? Why the constant pursuit of material gain that is transient? Why the constant desire to brand our families and friends with tiny prints of us?



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