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MY BROTHER ASKED ME ABOUT DEATH

When visiting, my brother noticed I was preoccupied with death.
He asked about this apparent new-found-obsession I had as, to him, it seemed an evident theme in our conversations. But it hadn’t occurred to me that my mind was drifting regularly to thoughts of demise. So his question unlocked something big.

Why am I constantly thinking of the end?

Objectively speaking I was a very fortunate child. Like many, my upbringing involved a stable home. I never lacked food and my infancy was allowed to prosper in moments of pure innocence. My imagination was allowed to flourish with beliefs of Father Christmas and The Tooth Fairy. Everything seemed secure. What I severely lacked was a sense of truth. An understanding of basic concepts that balance out reality. Balance Life itself. And within these truths: Loss. Much would happen before any of this would hit. For years I would live unaware of my own relationship to wistfulness.

My twenties seemed to have no limits. With every life decision I made, there was always an unspoken security guaranteed. At least that’s how it felt in my head. I had a home and a family somewhere on the planet to fall back on. A safety net that gave me permission to be - or feel - indestructible. A birth right I felt entitled to. And this fake confidence gave me the drive to move overseas.

Don’t get me wrong, confidence got me out, but it took lots of sacrifice to have no borders. I fought hard to make a life in a different land and start anew. And I’ve committed to that plan ever since. Most of my adult life has been away from dear ones. Almost a decade has gone by and my time away from family set off Adulthood. In the decade of my twenties my world views were transformed forever. I learned how fragile human connections can become if we don’t work hard to nurture them. Away from your birthplace you learn to exist outside your culture. Religion and tradition morph with the customs of other peoples giving a wider understanding of existence. To me, it’s the most humbling and beautiful occurrence. Realising how different life can be through other’s eyes. And slowly I began to appreciate humanity. Our raw and brutal mortality.

So, not surprisingly, themes of death have come to me now I’m in my thirties. Because I understand that things don't last forever. And neither do we. I had no choice but to find connection through conscientious work and commitment. Turning thirty forced me to question many choices over the years. Many friendships along the way. I’ve never regretted moving away, but doing so came with its share of consequences. Though not easy, assuming them is part of growing up. If not, the body starts to shoulder all we go through over time.

In one of these conversations I remember saying to my brother “You might think it funny, but being able to complain out loud about mundane  things is a luxury. You have your wife, but I usually just deal with being tired or hot or sleepy or whatever by myself.” He laughed and agreed. It’s true; Complaining is a privilege. Once you are on your own, what’s the alternative? When there is no one listening, you just get on with it. This is one of the ways I learned Loss and why I now appreciate human connection even more.

Ends are part of existence. Neither good nor bad. They simply are. How we choose to deal with it bares more importance than the actual act of death or a goodbye.

No one wants to deal with death. In fact, many religions fight off this factuality by creating astronomical, mystical scenarios that elaborate new beginnings after our departure from the world’s atmosphere. We create unscientific tales to embellish infinity. And it works. Who doesn’t want to believe in eternity? One could argue it’s the reason medicine exists. As a species we want to conquer immortality and always be in control.

Well, I don’t want to feel control anymore. It is so tiring to me. So many people I have loved have come and gone leaving me with questions. And I know it’s the same for you and for all of us. As I said, loss is part of life. I prefer to nourish what I’ve lived. It feels healthier than living in denial. So perhaps accepting death has been the key to treasuring what has been most dear to me.

Perhaps it takes us being away from all we know to appreciate what we have. And I mean  appreciate microscopic things: A handwritten letter carried through the years, or a ripped theatre ticket, or a dedicated song from a first love. Anything that ties us back to our humanity.

So, yes, it’s true. I have been preoccupied with death lately. But only to appreciate my mortality; My friends and my connection to this world; My understanding of love and living in the moment. My being present. Accepting death helps me forgive myself for past mistakes and forgive others for how they treated me with the emotional tools we each had at the time. All of us just trying to be. Searching for joy or peace.

Growing up we don’t necessarily learn how lonely life gets. No matter how much we surround ourselves with friends and lovers or fight against it. We always come back to ourselves. What we perceived as a given right when we were children, now is something we cherish with pride as grown-ups. And so we become grateful for our friends. We enjoy the phone call to our parents and remind them how much they mean to us. We smile and take in the room when waking up next to a lover and, in my case, we don’t take for granted short walks through the park with a brother sharing thoughts about death. Nor do we take for granted them coming over to visit us in our chosen  new life with no judgement of how different it may be to their own.

I've been thinking about endings lately. But I don’t think I lack truth anymore. I assume life as it comes and try to make the best of it. With compassion, gratitude and love.