Even if there is a world hereafter, because that world will be so inconceivably different, I cannot enter it calmly, with open arms. Part of me is glad that I cannot, like Emily Dickinson say coolly: "Because I could not stop for death/he kindly stopped for me." When I am older, perhaps, I may be able to confront death with resigned acceptance. I have known people facing illness and old age who say that they have no regrets, and simply surrender and bow to the inevitable. But I can only think of all of the things I still wish to do in life, when I hear the world 'death.' I think of my loved ones, of children whom I will never be able to see grow old. I even wonder who will take care of my pets.
Our culture and other cultures deal with death through euphemisms. The metaphors of a long sleep, of going into the darkness, and passing away reflect a need to soften the blow of the loss to humankind and the loss to the self when a unique individual loses his or her life. There...
Death is the end of possibility within the framework of what is recognizably human.
I cannot offer a grand philosophical speech about how I know I will die someday, and that the views of other cultures and peoples have reinforced the commonness of my fate. I still struggle with what death truly means, and try not to dwell upon its reality on a daily basis. When I face it, someday, I realize I will have to regard death with a more bracing sense of realism. Until then I can only offer my honesty and a heart that rages against the dying of the light.
Works Cited
Dickinson, Emily. "Because I could not stop for death." Online. 17 Mar 2011.
http://academic.brooklyn.cuny.edu/english/melani/cs6/stop.html
Thomas, Dylan. "Do not go gentle into that good night." Online. 17 Mar 2011.
http://www.bigeye.com/donotgo.htm
