Death Is Real

A raw meditation on mortality, loss, and the unshakable reality of death. A reminder to live with urgency and purpose.

You know, when I think about the state of the world today, I often find myself coming back to a topic most people would rather avoid – death. It’s as if we’ve pushed it to the back of our minds, turned down the volume, and continued with our daily lives. It’s understandable, really; talking about death isn’t what you’d call a light topic for casual conversation. And yet, here’s the inconvenient truth: Death is as much a part of life as living itself.

Why is it, I wonder, that we run from the very thing that defines the brevity of our existence? Perhaps it’s the question that haunts us all: “What will my name stand for?” Every tick of the clock reminds us that time, for all its seeming abundance, is limited.

My mother, God bless her soul, held beliefs that were unwavering and strong. She’d often speak of them, giving them life in her words, painting vivid pictures of her worldview in our minds. And as the clock ticked on her life, one of my most significant concerns was finding a good resting place for her before I ventured across the border.

And here’s the rub: in this vast world filled with luxury and excess, I found myself scraping the bottom of the barrel, unable to afford even a dignified place of rest for her. The irony is bitter and humbling. I’ve never been one to ask for handouts, always believing in earning every bit that I get. Yet, in that moment, all I could think of was how much selling a few copies of my book could have helped.

Promoting a web page, especially in today’s saturated digital age, might seem insignificant. But for someone like me, your simple act of sharing could mean the difference between silence and acknowledgment.

Speaking of acknowledgment, it’s astonishing to realize how frequently true genius is only celebrated after its creator has passed. Take Vincent van Gogh with his mesmerizing masterpieces, or Anne Frank’s profoundly moving diary – their legacies seem magnified in the wake of their deaths. Must we, in our own lives, initiate grand endeavors, only to pass them on and witness their transformation into something unrecognizable, much like Colonel Sanders saw with KFC before his death?

Which leads me to wonder: when does the quest for success die? Or the very attempt at it? Maybe, just maybe, acknowledging that death is real can teach us to truly live. After all, in understanding our end, perhaps we can better appreciate our beginning and everything in between.