Afraid of Death

I am afraid of what happens when I die.

That is the whole concern.

I am not talking about heaven or hell,

not about light, not about darkness,

not about any image people use

to make the idea easier to hold.

I am afraid because I do not know what happens.

I do not know if there is anything after death.

I do not know if I will still be aware.

I do not know if I will remember my life.

I do not know if I will stop existing completely.

The fear comes from that uncertainty.

People say they are not afraid,

or they say they believe something specific will happen.

I do not have that certainty.

I only have questions, and the knowledge

that one day those questions will stop

because I will no longer be here to ask them.

I am afraid of losing my thoughts.

I am afraid of losing the people I love.

I am afraid of not being able to see, think, feel, or remember.

I am afraid of the moment when I realize it is happening

and I cannot stop it.

This fear does not always control my life,

but it returns often enough

that I cannot pretend it isn’t there.

Sometimes it comes when I try to sleep.

Sometimes when I hear about someone dying.

Sometimes when I notice how quickly time passes.

I do not want reassurance that everything will be fine.

I do not want a story that makes it feel safer.

I want to admit that the fear exists

because the unknown exists.

I am afraid of dying because I do not know what it means,

and because there is no way to practice for it,

no way to ask someone who has done it

and come back with an answer.

That is the concern.

That is the whole thing.