What I hope death is.

When I was younger around 6 or 7, I was excited for death … until I saw what it looked like. I grew up in a space that often discussed the afterlife – heaven and eternity with God. The image painted of this supreme being was enough to entice a little girl to crave death. “Milk and honey would be there”, back then sounded exciting, but now I wonder – why milk and honey? I would never eat(drink?) milk and honey right now on Earth. It wouldn’t hurt to try it, perhaps I would surprise myself.

It was simple, if you lived a deserving life, several beautiful rewards await you in the after life – mansion in the sky and supposedly, all the milk and honey you can eat PLUS spending the rest of eternity with a God who apparently cares. This changed though when I watched an episode of Monk that sparked a fear of death, but now that I look back, I wonder if I was instead terrified of the process of dying. So Mr. Monk was buried alive by a criminal who did not want to get caught; as Monk struggled to catch his breath in his coffin, I wondered what if that was me?

Thoughts ran frantically through my head - What if my family buries me alive accidentally?! I feared being alone, in a ground 6 feet under, slowly losing my grip with the world with no one knowing where I am and that I am slowly dying. So, my admiration of death converted to a deep dread. It terrified me, being alone in a coffin – alive.

But it terrifies me even more that I am currently alone in a coffin alive. I am isolated from the world, slowly drowning in berating thoughts where no one knows where I am and that I am dying – mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I feel that way every day – my family and friends see someone who is comfortably floating above the waters but really, the truth? The waters are floating above me. I’ve stared into the abyss way too many times and now the abyss is staring back at me.

Death wasn’t just a gateway to milk and honey anymore; it became this glorified entrance to not existing. That sense of oblivion seemed like the true reward and it made sense to me - I wouldn't need to bother with the concept of existing and ruminating on what this life truly means. I kept wondering if this is adulthood and whether this thought process was a symbol that I have grown up. Are adults scared to admit that life sometimes feels innately purposeless? Why do we strive so hard in life and what are we aiming for?

My God-sister who was merely 1 year older than me and just turned 25 years old passed away two months ago. She had two months left in law school and was ready to enter the job market later this year. Ever since we were kids, she couldn’t stop yapping about being a lawyer. If I ever believed in purpose, I would believe that she had it. She wanted to make a difference in the field, she had steadfast integrity and a voice that commanded any room she went into. It almost felt like law chose her.

Now that she hasn’t fulfilled this goal that she worked towards all her life, I wonder if purpose is different from ambition? My God-sister was unapologetic in the way she lived and graceful in the way she passed. I learned to be more authentic and open because of her. By showing my cards to my family and friends, I became less alone - through community I gained considerable strength. Though I still struggle daily, I feel more alive and less like I'm the latest rendition of the walking dead.

My God-sister didn't fulfill her ambition but I believe she lived in her purpose. She touched my life and inspired so much confidence in the people around her that, I now hope that death isn’t an entrance to nothingness.

I hope it’s a reunion.