Death: A reflection on its inevitable presence

 On days like this when even the sky darkens to grey, I am often reminded of a quote from Murakami’s Norwegian Woods. ‘Death exists, not as the opposite but as a part of life’. 

I remember reading the quote for the first time. At the end of that sentence, my eyes were open to a fact that should have been obvious from the beginning. In my small world now, with illness and the sudden passing of a family member, I find myself coming back to the quote. Death has always been a part of life. 

And yet, despite the obvious fact, I have allowed myself to be wrapped by illusions of eternal life. But the reality is quick to catch up and when suddenly I find myself face-to-face with Death I’m not only shocked but also brought to an abrupt halt. 

During such times questions arise. How do I react now? How do I express my feelings? Do I suppress them so I may support others? Or do I crumble and risk being vulnerable? 

With time, I have realised that I mourn quickly and privately. After that, it's donning on a sturdy exterior and moving, no rushing past taking the quickest route to normalcy before everything. 

And yet a question lingers on: is this a healthy approach? Some may question whether I possess a functioning emotional core, as I bury my grief beneath a facade of strength. I hope this answers all such and similar questions. 

In the face of Death, I am just as unprepared as you. However, I have come to realise that Death is just around the corner. And as the not-so-pleasant shop around the corner, I have come to accept its presence, because to deny it would be madness.  Make no mistake, I am not glad that it exists. No, every time it claims someone dear to me, I wish to confront it- to yell and scream. But deep down, I know it won’t change anything.  

Instead, I lay a flower laced with memories every time I pass the inevitable shop. I choose to remember not the ending but the many years that led to it, to stand beside those who mourn differently, and to continue remembering those lost until it's my time to enter the shop. 

This has become my way of mourning loss-privately and swiftly. In my journal of wandering mind then, I sow seeds of remembrance, reflecting not on the endings but the moments that led to it.