I know most people don't like to think about death. I guess it makes sense logically, fear of the unknown and all that.
So I acknowledge that I am weird (per usual) that it is actually one of my favorite topics. But trying to figure out why I am so weird on this, I went into my memory machine to contemplate.
My mother was a bit of a religious nut and therefore I was raised in the Christian church and had to attend at least once a week, often more than that. Meanwhile my dad proclaimed he was an atheist but we will come back to that later. No wonder i am so fucked up though.
The Christian afterlife never really appealed to me. Of course hell is unappealing, but I remember that even as a young child, I didn't like the heaven they kept trying to sell me on. Maybe it is because it was a bunch of middle aged white men in rural PA and what they were really describing how they wanted heaven to be, and honestly I don't remember the scriptural passages but they repeatedly described roads made of gold and like.....I want to be in nature, what fucking use is gold in heaven anyways?
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| not for me |
They also kept telling me that animals didn't get to go to heaven so I was looking for where I could go that animals would be. I explicitly remember one of these dudes reading me some passage about heaven having horse drawn chariots and I immediately interrupted and said WAIT THERE ARE HORSES IN HEAVEN? YOU SAID NO ANIMALS BUT IT MIGHT BE OK IF THEY HAVE HORSES and that might be the day my mother was asked to keep me quiet.
Beyond that, there was so much emphasis on this being eternity and I have always found eternity a terrifying concept. I remember reading this and being permanently traumatized by it
Maybe it is because I was an abused child but I had nightmares after reading that. I couldn't stop thinking about it. How eternity means never ending and that it would mean nothing ever stops. Ever.
Also I just learned that it appears to be a rip off of this:
Live and learn.
Anyways, I didn't, and still don't, have any desire to exist for eternity. I think anyone who does hasn't truly pondered what that means and how fucking punishing that would be. (Apologies if you have thought deeply about this and still want it, would love to chat with you).
Tolkien helped me further realize this. When I read Lord of the Rings at first I wanted to be an elf. Who doesn't right? Then I read the Silmarillion. And learned more about why death is considered the Gift of Men. The elves have to watch what they love wear away and be destroyed and they can't get away. Death is a gift. An escape.
As I moved into adulthood and left the church behind and talked to my dad more, I realized death could just be the end. I don't have to believe in the Christian afterlife, what if when I die everything just ends? Stops? Goes back to stars, whatever.
His Dark Materials was a whole other awakening for me. Man books really do change your brain.
So I started to believe or I guess better to say hope that when I die, I just get to be done. This is what appeals to me, this is what I want. An end. Life has never been overly kind and while I love the natural beauty of this planet with my whole heart I feel like I currently have to witness the destruction of beauty in favor of greed and an end to that sounds so appealing.
But I get ahead of myself. As I was shaping my own views on death and the afterlife, my father was aging. He was 45 when I was born so he was always old compared to other dads and we missed out on so much time to muse on deep topics like life and death. But we did in my late teens and early 20s and I think we were fairly like minded. He talked about death like an old friend to greet when the time came. I don't remember details but I remember that. We agreed that even if Christianity or some other religion was right, maybe you can choose non-existence. It can't be heaven if you there by force, right?
Unfortunately, age came for him in a cruel manner. Both severe physical issues and a mental decline that was accelerated by medical professionals overprescribing him benzos which tanked him further in both aspectss.
His decline was not pretty and his personality shifted a great deal. He started fearing death. I had to watch all of the changes and in his last year I literally witnessed him withering in front of me before finally passing.
Death was a gift.
Death is such a gift.
Losing him hurt me, of course it did, but it was also a relief.
It was over. He didn't believe in an afterlife. He despised religion and although I think he leaned more agnostic than actually atheist, he certainly wasn't searching for Christian heaven. Hopefully he I were right and there is nothing after and he now is at peace because he doesn't exist.
So here I am now, dealing with a bunch of medical issues that are currently not debilitating but that have the potential to decimate my health. Knowing I have the genetic predisposition to go the same route as my father. Balanced on the edge of the cliff, and unsure which things will fall.
My comfort is knowing that death is there. If it becomes too much, I don't have to keep living in a failing body. There is an escape. I like talking about it because it is my hope.
We aren't there yet, hopefully I am not even close to that and my musings are for a far off future.
But the comfort remains and when it happens, I plan to welcome it.
