Death is all around us. I’ve dispatched hundreds of mosquitos in my life. Bam. Instant death. I’ve killed dozens of butterflies on my car windshield. One time I ran over a squirrel.
Things are dying all the time. It’s normal. Think of the snout nose butterfly (common in my front yard) that only lives a couple of weeks in its butterfly phase and then passes away, drops out of the air, falls to the ground. Lot’s of bugs like that.
If it’s born, it dies. Birth = death, a perfect equation. Of course what we focus on (and rightly so), is life, the space in between. But without birth and death we wouldn’t have a space in between.
I asked my barista once (beautiful Kai), ‘Why is death such a big deal?’ She said, “Is it?” So I don’t know. We think it’s a big deal because we have a big ego. That’s what dies and our fear of dying. Our big ego and our fear dies, not us. How could we die if we’re watching ourselves die?
Is death like being born? Being born is like death for the fetus. Its world is destroyed and it’s forced into another realm. Unknown, absolute, and inevitable. I see some similarities there.
Where do we go? No one knows. Back to where we came from is my guess. Of course religions and philosophies are happy to fill in the blank. That’s their purpose, at least in part, to give us some solace and certainty for what is certain only in its uncertainty.
I once had a dog named Kio. He was amazing. He came out of the wild chaparral in the countryside where I lived at the time. He was half coyote, by all appearances. His coat smelled like he was wearing cologne for as long as I knew him.
Even the day he died from kidney failure. After a long vigil. A couple of weeks. I was with him all that time, trying to save him as he slowly slipped away. He was calm, I was crying. He taught me something about dying: accept it. I’ve never felt the same since.
One can question one’s own mortality. Have a talk with it. Especially if you’re desperately sick and the doctors are clueless. It happens. It’s good to be familiar with one’s own demise, I think. The Hindus call the god of death, ‘Yum’. Great name, huh? Might as well make friends with him. Welcome him. He’s going to come visit you anyway and take you for a walk.
And a funny thing about growing old. I don’t know if you’ve thought about it this way but especially if you have an old age (some people never do) - it’s a time of giving back all you were given. Hearing, gone. Sight, going. Ambulation, rickety. Cognitive ability, well hopefully you retain some of that. Memory . . . what? It’s a process of regression isn’t it? People literally regress back to their childhood. It’s a blessing. It’s a preparation.
Until then, we’re all approaching the final destination, no pause, no clue, no rehearsal and no appointment. Just stop.
Well, that’s what I think, but hey, I don’t know any more about how we die than you do. Why don’t you tell me about it?
I enjoy and am inspired by reading accounts of those who have almost died and come back to gush about the amazingness. Loved the story of Steve Jobs saying 'wow, wow, wow' just as he left. I think we are going to continue to be exquisitely cared for.
I’ve watched several people take their last breaths. It actually was quite peaceful every time. It was like they knew what was happening and were just going with it. In the hospital, a nurse came into the room and told us our mother was “transitioning,” she had been unconscious for several hours and we sat in the room and watched her breathe, until the breathing became more and more difficult and then one big final breath and it was over. I really don’t think much about death. What’s the point really?