Dying to Talk about Death
People think I’m morbid. They think I’m weird. Most react funny when I tell them I’m in the dying business.
I get it, it scares you and you don’t want to think about it. Mortality freaks you out.
It also freaked me out, which is why, in retrospect, I got into the dying space in the first place. It scares me, or perhaps, I can now say, scared me. A fear rooted in many years of starring anticipatory grief in the face. Anticipating the pain I would feel when either one of my parents dies.
Living on the edge of not knowing is laced with anxiety, stress, and fear — paralyzes you from doing almost anything — why? Because you have zero control. Not knowing is hard, and wondering about it all the time is worse.
For me, I know it’s about attachment, and holding on; but why do I cling so hard? It puts too much pressure on the lived experience —feeling the need to always soak in life with the people we love out of fear that they won’t be here one day.
Lead with fear much? How about lead with love?
I lead a conversation recently entitled: Are you afraid of death/ and or dying? and the response was big — people wanted to weigh in to take the weight off. One group member did exactly that for me and shared something I never heard before:
People are here to be experienced; we aren’t here to own them.
I softened when I heard that, and realized, in the moment, it was exactly what I needed to hear.
That’s why I’m dying to talk about death, and right now.