On Death and Dying ... Or Not

Why is death so scary?

As a Christian, I shouldn't be so worried about dying and what comes afterward.

But I guess the truth is I don't worry about my own death so much. I worry about my grandfather's. He's 91, and for a few months now, I've had the sense that time is running shorter. 

He's uncomfortable so much of the time. His vision is worsening. He's tired but doesn't sleep well. His mobility is growing limited, and I think sometimes he's just plain bored of being in his body and still having such an active, brilliant mind.

I worry that he's miserable and unhappy. I wonder if maybe he wishes it could all just ... stop. 

I don't know what I'll do without him. I don't know how I'll exist in a world without him. When I go visit my mom and my grandfather's not there, what will that be like? How will I be able to watch basketball--something we've always done together--without him?

I try to focus on what we do have and the time we do share together. But increasingly, when I leave, I wonder if it might be the last time I'll see him.

Conversely, when I hope for him to be here years from now, I wonder at what cost that would come for him. How much more discomfort and ennui must he endure? 

I don't know what I think I want to happen. I mean, nothing I want is realistic, and I know that.

He's the best man I know. I love him with all my heart, and without him, I can't envision what life will look like. I'm scared of losing him, but I'm scared of him living a life he doesn't want--a life that isn't worthy of him. 

Sometimes I miss him as though he were already gone. I love him so much.

If you stumble into this post, please say a prayer for him. He's the best ever.