The day with no tomorrow

Death is the end of the adventure, the ultimate destination. We enter stage right, born into a world of summer and winter; we exit stage left, departing our body and fading into oblivion. There's a sort of fear of the unknown inherent to humanity, a lingering terror of no longer being, but there's also comfort, if you look for it.

Dying is what makes life so precious. We know that our lives will one day draw to an end, that there will come a day with no tomorrow. We ought to make the most of the time we have, our days are numbered, our moments matter. There's an existential dread that arises when we think about dying, a lingering terror of no longer being, but there's also an exhilaration, if you look for it.

Life and death are deeply intertwined, all living things die, all things that die must first live. This is not good, this is not bad, this simply is. Life brings joy and connection in tandem with suffering and pain, we grow and strive until we can grow no further and strive no longer, and then we rest, we lay ourselves down to an endless sleep. Death remedies all the pains of our lives; if we no longer exist, we no longer suffer. There's a tragic fatalism that follows the thought of the inevitability of death, but there's also a bittersweet peace, if you look for it.

To die is to have been alive, and I am not afraid of death.

When I was younger, trapped in that dark and turbulent mire between the golden days of childhood and the bemused professionalism of adulthood, I longed for death. I had a morbid fascination with the idea of no longer being, because if I no longer was, then I could escape all the sadness and persistent fatigue.

I don't judge my younger self for her fascination, I understand the allure of death. I am still not immune to the seductive idea of eternal rest, eternal peace. I do not view death as something negative, but rather as an inevitable aspect of being alive.

I am grateful for the fact of death, I know that I could not go on living forever. Immortality sounds like a miserable, awful, exhausting sort of existence. My heart beats and I know that one day it will stop, and that will be the day with no tomorrow, and there's a comfort in that knowledge, the knowledge that one day I can lay down my bag filled with a lifetime of memories, I can stop walking forward, I can sit, I can rest.

When I reach that day, the day with no tomorrow, I hope my death is calm and quiet, I hope I am permitted to slip gently into bed, into an endless sleep. If my death is violent and sudden, so be it, that moment will pass, and so will I.