I assumed everyone was scared of death. I certainly started to “feel it” when I turned 40 this year. To many, this might seem too early to think about dying, but for some reason, I started to think about how risks for certain diseases seem to increase with age, and in the next 20 years, I might witness the death of someone around me. I guess, it might be just my anxious nature. Certainly, in my 20s, I never had these thoughts. I just assumed that life would go on forever, and if I made a mistake, I could certainly fix it tomorrow. However, as I have gotten older, I have started to feel the sand trickle down that sand timer a little faster than before. Is it only me?
The other day, I brought this topic up during a lunch with friends who were around the same age as me. I was surprised to hear that they weren’t afraid of death at all. In fact, they thought it was a natural part of life. Even my husband could easily give me a similar answer. All this made me think really hard about why I was afraid. Was I afraid of the possible suffering before death? Was I afraid that I was wasting my precious life? Was I scared that I won’t be able to see my loved ones again? I’m not totally sure. Maybe, it was a combination of all those reasons I guess.
However, the most ironic thought came into my head afterwards. I used to wish for death all the time. I remember when I was my sickness, living at the psych ward, I was asked by the nurse whether I felt suicidal all the time. My answer was always “yes,” because I wanted the suffering to end. Yet, now today, since I feel “better,” I am afraid death all the time. I can barely to make it to most doctor appointments without freaking out. Furthermore, I don’t know how many times I have cried at the eye doctor. Gosh, life is truly a weird journey sometimes, isn’t it?