An Open Invitation From Death

There was not one thing I feared most in life than death. Discussing death was simply an open invitation to plunge into a blackhole of a fear, a discussion I simply had no desire to partake in. The very thought of death felt like death itself: painfully numbing, perpetually dark and unimaginably empty.

When I was in elementary school, I'd have panic attacks thinking about death in the most non-triggering areas: on a boat in a beautiful ocean, in the bathroom and in floral shops. When I felt my body go numb at the florist's, the kind lady, with my mum's permission, stuck me in the fridge with the flowers. I'm not too sure if it's because I secretly stunk like a pre-teen or because she truly felt for me. Regardless, the cold, fresh smelling fridge was exceptionally resuscitating.

Like my phobia of clustered holes, I had grown to suppress my fear so far down that it's rebound would surely bounce back, but with double the velocity. And so it did.

Last Christmas, I had broken up with my boyfriend of 4 years; my first love. Although the breakup was slightly anticipated, it had felt like my time here on earth came to an end (what a biopic). Or at least the breakup had resurfaced my unforgiving fear of death to the point of no return, but it had also exposed the reality that nothing is forever; a fact of which I had absolutely no control over.

This was undoubtedly a smack to the face, a punch to the gut and one big stubbed toe. I was clearly going through an existential crisis, one that lasted for what felt like an eternity, but was merely a month of life contemplation.

I had ultimately succumbed to the fear and wilted to its feet. My brain had reached a state of nothingness, a state I had previously deemed as nearly impossible. Clearly, my fear was bigger than myself and a rather big hindrance to my daily habits.

The remedy to my fear was Ted Talks and watching near-death experiences on Youtube. Free therapy is great. Except the therapy itself was actually the act of studying the very thing that shook me to my core.

I watched presentations given by Dr. Christopher Kerr on his interviews with those nearing their last days on earth, Lewis Brown Griggs on his own near death experience and my all-time favourite, Lesly Hazleton asking us "What's wrong with dying?"

Over the course of a few weeks, I delved into studying death. The most commonly disliked topic became one I was enthralled with. It is a fact of life we barely understand. We understand death, but at its surface. We understand the process of a dying cell, we understand the progression of decomposition and that a flat line equates to death. But what we don't understand is what happens after, or if what we think as "after" is actually before. Now of course I was jumping into the complexities and was likely asking questions that simply do not make any sense per modern science, especially coming from the perspective of an art student, however death became my new favourite cliff-hanger.

Death was a topic I wanted to speak nothing of and it was now something I wanted to know more of. In many respects, I fought fire with fire; I overcame my fear of death by studying death. It didn't diminish the sadness that comes with losing a friend or a family member; saying goodbye will always be sad. And maybe, there truly is nothing after our cells send its final signal, but we live in a world of duality: light is a condition of dark, noise is a condition of silence, death is a condition of life; death gives life context. Learning to live alongside death opened an entirely new dimension of resonance.

I still have a fear of clustered holes and of having a single toe isolated in a lock hold, both irrational fears - where they come from will forever baffle me, but my approach in overcoming my fear of death has translated across all planes in my life. So much of what I previously feared or felt the need to control was no longer an issue I had to face.

Death taught me the principles of letting go, a skill I had previously lacked. Some could say I was anal, or, particular, I like to think I had standards, but that's not to say I was never a little overreaching in how I thought some things should be done. The mindset I had achieved in overcoming my fear allowed me to live in a world where I care deeply, but not enough that I throw a tantrum when my dad accidently puts my non-dryer-friendly jeans in the dryer or when my roommate cuts the vegetables wrong. I allow myself to enjoy life simply as it is, in all of it's glory and in all of its lows such as when I had food poisoning on the bus in grade 12 and pooped my pants.

Life can be messy (like when you poop your pants), it can be sad, and it can be especially frustrating, but for that I'm grateful because without it, I would never fully appreciate the best parts.

Ultimately, death was never something I saw as a goal in life, nor should it have been, however it is a fact of life I could not control nor deny. It wasn't so much that I was afraid of the unknown, if anything not knowing can be the most exciting aspect, but it was rather that no matter how hard I fought, there was simply no way out. I finally understood that there are simply some things in life that are not meant to be controlled, but merely something to be experienced.