The Fear of Death

"Those who welcome death have only tried it from the ears up." Wilson Mizner (1876 - 1933)

My grandmother is dying of congestive heart failure. She may die tonight, she may be dying for the next five years. As they say, we know not the day, nor the hour. Still, her imminent, or not so imminent demise weighs heavily on my mind. We took her to an emergency doctor's appointment today and for the first time her usually flippant physician looked concerned. He also wanted to admit her, which she, of course, refused.

I'm freaking out about this, and can't decide what is more bothersome, her dying, her fear of dying, or my fear of dying which is highlighted by the former.

Several weeks ago my uncle had a brush with death. I'm becoming all too familiar with the grim reaper and he's standing a bit too close for my comfort these days. It seems like there is a shadow standing right behind me.

Honestly, I fluctuate between being horrifically afraid of death and praying for it. It depends on my mood. When I'm feeling depressed or in pain, shuffling off this mortal coil doesn't seem like such a bad deal. On good days, I will cling to this life with all the strength I have.

For months after the accident, and, truth be told, even now on the bad days, I lamented not dying in the car accident. You see there was a moment right after the impact, when I thought the car was going to roll, and it seemed to be moving, out of control, and I couldn't see anything through the smoke from the airbag, that I knew this was going to be a serious accident. And there was a point where I thought, "I could die here. Right now. I could die." And I said, "No!" Although I can't be sure, I think I may have actually said it out loud. "No! I am not going to die today."

There wasn't a lot of fear, it was just a rejection, an absolute: I did not want to die that day.

It was only later that I thought about it and thought that dying suddenly in a car accident was probably a better alternative than languishing and having time to contemplate my mortality. Since the accident, I have examined my mortality far too often.

I still don't know why I didn't die in the accident. When the accident arrived they said someone who called 911 said that one of the drivers had been ejected. The EMT thought it was me. Somehow I got myself out of the car and argued with one of the helpful folks who stopped to assist. They kept telling me to sit down but I knew my knee was injured and was afraid that if I bent it to sit, I wouldn't be able to straighten it again. I was fairly disoriented after the impact but I remember feeling very happy that I was still alive. That lasted for several days after the accident, the complete bafflement at the reasoning behind why I was alive didn't kick in until about a month afterwards.

The happy to be alive feeling is long gone, the feeling that I should have died in the accident lurks beneath everything in my life, and the questioning - "Why me?, Why didn't I die? What purpose was there for me to survive? What are all my injuries supposed to teach me?"... all those questions remain.

I don't want to be afraid of death, mine or anyone else's but I'm not quite sure how to get to that point. I also don't have a graceful exit planned for this entry, but I guess that's usually how things end, not the way you planned, not when you planned. They just end.