A few months ago, I found myself at an amusement park with my husband, my sisters, and my brother-in-law. We were on a kid-free vacation, reveling in the thrill of rides, indulging in sugary treats, and laughing at each other’s antics. However, one night, as we strolled together, the topic of mortality unexpectedly arose. I shared that familiar sensation — that jarring realization that, at some point, we all face death. You know that feeling when your mind suddenly races, and you can almost sense the icy grip of mortality creeping in? Anyone else experience this? Just me?
Oh well.
About once a week, I find myself reminded that my time is finite. This thought sends my heart racing, as if it’s rushing me toward my inevitable end. And then, it hits me that not only will I face death, but so will all the loved ones in my life. A lump forms in my throat, and I feel my temperature rise. The uncomfortable awareness that once everyone who knew me passes on, so too will my memory, fills me with dread. Cemeteries worldwide are filled with the forgotten, and that fate awaits us all.
This usually spirals into a mild freakout until I can redirect my thoughts — often to a catchy tune, perhaps something by Beyoncé. After all, she’s destined to be remembered forever, unlike the rest of us. Lucky her.
I don’t suffer from any illness that suggests my time is short. Most of my family enjoys long lives, often saying things that are hilariously inappropriate without facing repercussions. Yet, I still find myself acutely aware of potential dangers in certain situations. For instance, flying makes me particularly anxious. I buckle my seatbelt as soon as I sit down and keep it fastened until we touch down. I might consider a drink to calm my nerves but then worry about needing to use the restroom mid-flight. My irrational fear tells me that if disaster strikes, it will happen while I’m in the lavatory. The idea of plummeting 35,000 feet with my last moments marred by the embarrassment of my circumstances is not how I want to go out.
While the thought of death is daunting, what really amplifies my anxiety is what comes next — or rather, what doesn’t come next. My logical side tries to make peace with the fact that my husband is cool with donating his body to science. To him, it’s an altruistic choice that benefits others. My mind starts to wander though, contemplating whether I should just donate my organs and be cremated instead. I envision my ashes scattered on a beautiful beach in Hawaii, or perhaps placed in a lovely urn that my family will cherish. But then, the ‘what ifs’ invade my thoughts. What if Hawaii disappears due to climate change? What if my family chooses an unattractive urn?
Before I know it, my mind races to worst-case scenarios. Perhaps I should freeze my brain in a cryogenic chamber or invest in a mausoleum that’s fit for royalty. I start dreaming up elaborate conditions for my descendants’ inheritances, requiring weekly visits to my resting place forever. Maybe I should even stir up a scandal to ensure I’m remembered. Wills are a blast to think about — if only for the existential contemplation they provoke.
The truth is, I’ll likely wrestle with thoughts of death until my final moments. It’s a sobering reality. But if I do manage to live a long life, I might just feel a little more prepared for whatever comes next.
For those interested in home insemination options, check out this informative piece on artificial insemination kits. If you’re eager for insights into pregnancy, the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development is a fantastic resource. And don’t miss the exciting story about a couple expecting twins through surrogacy over at Exciting News: Twins on the Way.
In summary, contemplating mortality can be unsettling. It is a reminder of our shared fate but also an opportunity to reflect on how we want to be remembered and the legacy we wish to leave behind.