The Fear of Death

Last week I was trying to convince another mom friend and neighbor to join us for bike-to-school day. She hemmed around a bit about it being way too dangerous, and then finally said outright, that she's a single parent, and afraid to die - she just doesn't want to leave her daughter an orphan.

It shocked me a bit at first. I teased her that she needs to go spend some time at temple (she's Jewish) but I really did think, wow, what a burden to be worried about dying. I felt sad that she couldn't enjoy the pure bliss of riding your bike in the city with kids. Those who I've tried to rally on bikes know that earlier this year I started making my kindergartener ride 2 miles to school on his bike, with my preschooler on a trail-a-bike behind me. We leave for school often grumpy, and arrive always feeling better, and we never have to find parking. On the way home, my son Ben tells me things he never would in the car, and we have these great conversations in the fresh air.

I am not afraid of death. My fears are many, and come in and out like waves: fears of failure, of rejection, of not being good enough, of dipping into depression. Perhaps if I had a diagnosis or event that made death imminent, I would be afraid. But for now, I'm at peace that it will come someday, and so I do the best I can today.

I had two grandfathers die a few years apart - both in their mid-nineties. I will never forget the way my parents described their last few days. One grandfather was ready to go - in fact for a year or so before, he would tell us all that. He often spoke about his business accomplishments and hobbies, but he always came back to the fact that family was the most important thing. He was a man of faith, and both my sister and I have underlined copies of C.S. Lewis books that we treasure from him. The other grandfather was an accomplished man in his field and his community. At his death, he was described to me as gasping for breath, and very afraid. He was also an alcoholic, with a trail of tears in his wake. I think that there were many who had forgiven him by his deathbed, but I don't think he had made peace with himself and his maker.

Do you fear death? Or have you had an experience that made you confront your fear of death?