Facing the Inevitable: The Power of Talking About Death

Exploring how remembering our lives will someday end, helps us live more richly now.

Hi beautiful being,

My aunt died earlier this year. Kathleen was an inspiring and incredible woman. As a nurse and administrator, not only did she break barriers when it comes to women in the military and medical field, she spearheaded many innovations that bring greater health and wellness to veterans and civilians to this day! I mention her not only to celebrate her, but because she exemplified what I’d like to explore with you today.

Saint Benedict famously advised us to, “Keep death daily before your eyes.” Why do you think that is? I believe he’s letting us know that:

Keeping death in your mind’s eye, brings life into focus.

You and I, as well as the other eight-billion people currently alive, are going to die. No exceptions. Contemplating this daily, is meant to be like a slap in the face. One that wakes us up to what really matters in life. Aunt Kathleen was so well celebrated, and is so deeply missed, because she lived with this in mind. She knew to:

Put people first—regardless of their gender, sexuality, race, nationality, (dis)ability, party, or creed.

Friend, this may seem pretty simple and straightforward, and it is. But it also isn’t. The thing is, we live in a highly death avoidant society. We’re saturated with messages telling us to dye our gray hair, mask and cover our wrinkles, and basically do whatever it takes to look as young as possible.

Naturally, some opt out of this narrative—often by “subscribing” to a different one. There are those of us who numb out in front of the TV, or with their drink and/or drug of choice. Others do much the same by buying and consuming things. Meanwhile, a good number of people chase their vision of prestige, power, and fortune. Still others dedicate themselves to clean eating, clean living, and working out. I could keep going with the other narratives we’re given regarding what “the good life” looks like, but I trust you get the point—and also see how these ways of living aren’t mutually exclusive. Not only that, but also how they distract us from what matters most: Putting people first.

Now, there’s a common thread all the aforementioned share, which I’d like to tug at.

Our fear of death.

You know the old saying, “out of sight, out of mind”? Consciously and subconsciously, that’s what we collectively do with death. To keep our fear of it at bay, we keep ourselves looking young, segregate our elderly in old folks’ homes, avoid thinking or talking about it at all costs, and so on. In one way or another, each of the above ways of living is tailormade to help us keep death as far away from us as possible. And, the reason for this is quite simple.

We fear death because it feels foreign to us. Yet, the more we talk about and contemplate it, the less foreign it becomes—and the less we’ll fear it. So, let’s normalize death, by talking about it!

This isn’t a new predicament. Two thousand years ago—in what I feel is a particularly inspired bit of writing—the unknown author of Hebrews wrote that Jesus died and rose again to “free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.” (Hebrews 2:15 NIV) We are enslaved by our fear of and anxiety over, not only death itself, but the whole process of dying.

According to the Book of Hebrews, that is why the Christ died in the most public way possible—elevated and naked, for all to see, on a cross. Only to then come back to let us know we don’t have to be scared of death. We can be, and have been, set free from the chains of its terror. Because death is not the end. Not only that—akin to Aunt Kathleen, yet writ large—the richly generous, compassionate, gracious, and loving way Jesus lived, modeled for us how fearlessly holding death in our mind’s eye affects us.

That said, let’s say it is. What if death is the end? Back in November of 2008, a surreal chain of events led to me plummeting thirty feet off a cliff, headfirst onto a boulder. I should have died. The thing is, even though I was conscious and communicative—albeit in a limited fashion—for the two months I spent in the ICU. I don’t remember any of it, or the accident. My severe traumatic brain injury, combined with some of the amnesic drugs they gave me, made my “screen go black”. I share this because simply ceasing wasn’t bad, or something to be afraid of. Honestly, the only thing that comes to me to describe it is, peaceful.

(Note, if you’re interested in knowing more about my accident and recovery, I wrote a memoir about it you can check out here.)

The main gift my accident gave me is it taught me how powerful it is, to live each day as if it might be your last. I’m pretty sure that’s what Saint Benedict is getting at as well. Adopting that mentality helps us be more:

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Present in the moment

Mindful of our words and deeds

Grateful

Loving, caring, compassionate, empathic, and kind

Generous

Joyous

Filled with wonder and awe over the magical miracle of life

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Friend, I’m so glad we took this time to talk about death, and hope you are too! What stood out to you from this? Are there any shifts or changes it’s nudging you to make? I’m planning for this to be the first in a series of “Let’s Talk About _____” posts. What topics would you like to explore here? I can’t wait to hear from you in the comments! And please “like” 🤍, and consider sharing/restacking this post if it spoke to you.

Hugs & Love,

Lang (aka “Dr. Love”)