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From what I hear, everyone experiences at least ONCE in their lives some kind of a major health scare, be in the form of an accident, or an illness. I had mine last year, when I felt a lump in my neck, which turned out to be a swollen nodule near my thyroid. And there are several nodules judging by the USG results, which the doctor thinks are benign and can be medicated. Anyway, I really thought my number was up. I was researching online what it meant to have a swollen nodule, or several nodules near the thyroid, and what potential danger attached to them. I drew my own conclusions, of course. There were days when I thought I was really OK; and there were days when I thought, gee, this was it. It’s count down from here on out – and everything I have dreamed of doing would never get done. Ever. And I found that what scares me most isn’t dying so much as it is being dead. As in, no longer alive.

My first real brush with death came when I was 23, and it was my father’s. He died from a stroke. I never got to say goodbye and to this day I can’t stop thinking what I would have said if I did get the chance to say goodbye. Would I say, farewell, be well? Would I beg him to stay? I still don’t know. Perhaps something along those lines. But what I didn’t take into account was what would he have said were he given the chance to say goodbye? And this question somehow resonates more to me than any other question I’ve ever pondered when it comes to death.

Life and death are the yin and yang of this natural world, and they will remain so for as long as we’re here, living in the in-between. And the general take on them is that life is good, and death is bad. However, both are inescapable. One cannot exist without the other. Science can’t overcome death; and neither can religion. So the question is how do we cope with it? How do we cope with our own death?

As I got older, I have come to the realization that no matter how dreary, or difficult, life is addictive. The things we thought we’d never survive, time proves that we do … again and again. Through wars and illnesses, disasters and heartaches, we’ve managed to continue existing. Even in the absence of hope, we do not succumb to oblivion. And as much as we like to philosophize our lives, we have to admit that yes, we do fear death. We do want to continue living. And this is what’s inherent in all of us. The will to live is too strong. We rarely walk toward death; death usually has to come and get us.

I don’t know. I, uh, haven’t quite thought this through. It’s just that I’ve seen these movies, heard these stories, and read these issues about how people are coping with the dying. And a part of me keeps asking what of those who are coping with death itself?

Maybe you can tell me what you think. Leave a comment. What would you say, or do, without being overly righteous or politically correct, if you knew that the next time you close your eyes, you won’t be able to open them again? That last day on your deathbed. That last hour. What would cross your mind?

As for me, when I think of it, I’d probably be consumed with grief and anger. Mostly, anger – for the obvious reasons.

Tell me your thoughts.