It happens only once

I walked into the hospital room slowly, not sure what to expect. She lay still on the bed in the fetal position. Her skin was cold and frail; her mind was clear but she couldn’t express everything she wanted to. I asked her a series of questions and she could only reply with mumbles and a date, July 7th, 1945, her anniversary. I spent the rest of my visit holding her hand, keeping my Grandma company, trying not to think of what could happen.

I have never personally seen death and I don’t think that I will for a while. But death seems like an abstract concept, like it will never happen to me because I feel a sense of immortality in my youth. That day, when I visited my Grandma in the hospital, I realize that death is inevitable, and maybe even acceptable, but always frightening.

I fear death, not because it happens, but because it doesn’t happen when I want it to. As my grandma is becoming older and older, I see her becoming more frail. Her walking has slowed down, and her health is not what it used to be. I know someday she will die and that scares because I don’t know when it will happen.

There are over six in a half billion people alive in the world, each one different from the next (US Census). Each one having their own thoughts and feeling, dreams and goals; the only thing that we have in common is death. The truth is, someday we all will die, and someday we all will lie on that bed, be in that hospital, and drift in to an eternal sleep. When that happens the cycle of life ends.

I have a friend that works for the Rancho Cordova Police Department. One night he told me he was about to get ready to work a twelve-hour shift because there was a funeral for the recent officer that passed away. He told me his fear of death, and that the recent death of the officer scared him. He knew that death wasn’t a façade, or an abstract concept, but very real and tangible. He told me that he fears death, because it is real, and it is apart of his job, but that if he feared it too much, or too little, it could be fatal. He said that sometimes he is too relaxed on the job and, because of that, he could make a mistake that could lead to death. When another officer does die, it resets his mind to work in a safer way, but he knows that he will eventually become lax again. The last thing he told me was that death happens, and he can’t stop it or prevent. He cannot stop going to work because of his fear of death. He does have a job to do; the only thing that he can do is to live with a healthy view of death.

My conversation with my friend the police officer gave me a new view of death. Death is an inevitable reality that must happen. Where there is death there is life, but to fear death to the point of an unhealthy obsession isn’t living. Death happens. My grandma will die. My friend will die. One day I will die as well. But it isn’t how we die that makes us special or even heroes. It is what we do while we live that make us great.

So I suppose that my fear of death isn’t in the action of dying, or when it might happen, but my desire to be something while I live. My grandma will be remembered for the love she showed to other people. My friend will be remembered for the way he serves and protects. I can’t help but want to know how I will be remembered, I may never know, but the only thing that I am able to know is how I live today, right now, and that is the best I can do. I am not able to change death, but I am able to change how I live.

.daniel.