The terminality of dying

I went through a first aid course today. Nothing really worth mentioning to say the least. But at some point during the course I started to think about dying. Not death per se - the cessation of life - but the ending of life. Since I was a child I have always had this entrenched fear of dying, but in recent years I would this that it has become more palpable. I think the reasons are several, including being at a mature enough age to think about what consequences death has on those you love and care about, and of course on yourself. I also think that because this age - 20-30s - one begins to realise that the plans one sets out for the rest of your life (or the initial plans) always have the threat of dissolution due to the death and dying. The fear that grips me at the thought of it is anxiety-inducing. But perhaps in the face out such bleakness I should feel a renewed sense of living, an appreciation of all that I have and all that I have had? In part, yes, I did feel that earlier today. But what I felt more was the realisation that death and dying are topics that should be discussed more openly - at least I so thought today. I thought that perhaps if dying were made less...enigmatic...it would lose it's debilitating grip? I thought perhaps that if my own fear of dying were no longer a fear but an acceptance it would not scare me so? I do not know for sure. The terminality that dying engenders - not simply the terminality of life but of hope, ambition, joy, desires, perhaps love too -is maybe what makes it far more terrifying than the end result: the cessation of life.

M.M.