Thinking About… Death

I’ve been thinking a lot about death lately. because, we’re all gonna die.

You, me, everyone you know, will die.

And that sounds depressing as hell, it really does. I think about my mum dying and i’m like ‘how the frigging bananas am I gonna cope with that?!’ I didnt want to think about it for a long time and when I was young I used to say to my mum ‘I’m really scared you’re gonna die and how will I cope without you’ and she’d say ‘I’m not going anywhere’ and by the grace of god, she didn’t and still hasn’t but of course she will. And the more afraid I was to think about death, the more I was afraid to do stuff, just in case something happened that would result in death. Worse case scenario was always ‘I could die’. Thing is, I’M GONNA DIE. It’s only case scenario.

So, the last few years i’ve decided to take a different approach. If I know I’m going to die and its a transition every human goes through, maybe I should incorporate the idea of death into my everyday. That way, we can become more familiar with each other. Friends, if you like. Of course I can never fully understand death, not until I actually die (and even then, as I’ll be experiencing it, I won’t need to understand it) but the more I have surrendered to the fact that death happens, the less worried about it I seem to have become. I don’t worry about it because I know it’s inevitable. I don’t pray for the day to never come as I know that’s like asking for all the trees that have been cut down to grow back, in a day. It’s against creation, against universal law. And I am not above universal law, as much as my puffed up ego would love to resist this notion, I am inconsequential when it comes to this big, old universe pulsing away, with or without my physical being. 

So, this is my beginning. Death. When birth happens, more dies. Not like ‘when a fairy looses it wings’ kinda death but when little babies, who can’t do anything for themselves other than poo and cry and eat come into the world, life known to those around us, dies. It becomes something new, for sure, but that is death right? When someone close to us dies, life is never the same as it was when they were in it. You have to get used to a new way of life. Same for our mothers and fathers and grandparents or careers/guardians. Plus. something dies for us babies too. A dark, warm, safe(ish) space, catered for 24/7 via cafe placenta. 

And maybe I still miss that place! I do wonder about our memories of pre-birth but thats a whole other matter.

But…

I am kinda scared of the dark and as a woman who never really saw the stars until she moved out of London, the dark, darkness of night scares the crap outta me! And side note here, does anyone else hear more noise when there is less noise to notice? It’s a weird polarity but true non-the-less. So moving out of the city is way more romantic sounding as city’s are jungles and you kinda get used to the squawks and rustle. 

My birth was text book, apparently. Isn’t that great! for me and my mum. That I sailed down that birth canal. I rocked birth basically.

‘Hell yea, I’m coming out of here like it’s 1999’ (it wasn’t, it was 1982)

I sailed from the dark side like a kid in corduroys coasting down a steel slide with a velvet, feather cushion to greet my tiny ass. I wasn’t wearing corduroys, that would be a miracle.

I hope I meet that velvet cushion again, at the very end. I hope those steps I take towards death, I hope I walk them and don’t look back. Knowing me, I’ll look back. I may be shit scared, I may not be. I may not know it’s my final round on this now butt worn and rusty steel slide but I hope, if I know it or not, it’s textbook. 

Not my call though, i’m far too unimportant for that. 

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