Death

There’s been too much of it lately to not think about it. Mortality is inevitable, but this limit is what makes life worth living. The finiteness of life is what makes time matter. The boundedness of our time on Earth is what makes every minute count.

“Death gives meaning to our lives. It gives importance and value to time. Time would become meaningless if there were too much of it.”
~ R.K. on Death, Our Lady Peace

I’ve thought about my own mortality many times of course, but more often than not it’s not fear-inducing or sad, it’s simply a fact of life. Why be sad about something you can’t change, especially when you won’t be around once it does occur? (if that makes sense) But I’m thinking about it differently now, in a way that makes me very sad. I’m thinking about the ‘what ifs’.

What if it had been you in that car that night? What if it had been you who decided to take that bottle of pills? I can’t imagine losing you already. I don’t want to imagine losing you ever!

Then I think of Mamak cursing and crying about Papak. Tears stream down my face as I realize that, whether it’s tomorrow or 60 years from now, the time will inevitably come when one of us loses the other, and the devastation that will cause, an emptiness that can never be filled. I cry just as much at the thought of you losing me as I do at the thought of me losing you. I lament my own mortality in a way I’ve never felt before, thinking of the pain you would feel. No matter what we do, no matter how much we love each other, no matter how much we want to be together forever, it just can’t happen. All we have is “so long as we both shall live”, “til death do us part”.

And here we are, waiting, apart, in two separate countries, while days and months of our lives tick by, not in each other’s arms, days we can never get back in our finite lives. I can only hope and pray that our days together will far outnumber our days apart. I cry about missing you all the time, but it’s such a profound sadness to think about losing you, to ponder the agonizing, unavoidable day when one of us is missing the other but knowing that we will never hold each other again.