The Life in Death

Every life ends.

My friend passed away last week in her sleep.  She was 33 years old.  She climbed into bed, shut her eyes and never opened them again.  Was it a sad day?  For her husband and daughter it was.  For all her family and friends it was.  But for her?  She has merely gone on to exist somewhere beyond our comprehension.  Our loss is our pain.

It has taken me several days to comprehend this reality which only exists as something entirely surreal in my head.

They say death is a part of life.  I say that while it may sound true, it's just another cliche.  Death is the end of life. It is the end of any suffering that may have occurred while still alive.  But it marks the beginning of the suffering for those who mourn and therefore becomes the tragedy to which we all refer it as.

I do not fear death.  I fear the inability to watch my children grow.  And feel the joy and pride a mother feels when her children mature into society contributing adults.  I don't want to miss a moment.  And while I'm quite sure I won't feel bad once I am dead, I know that as a living woman with three beautiful children, I don't want to die... yet.  I don't want to miss a moment of all the milestones in their lives.  Life is mysterious and I want to uncover the mysteries it places in my path.

So I am sad.  I am sad that my friend will never see her daughter grow up.  I am sad that her daughter will never truly know what an extraordinary mother she had.  And I am sad that someone so young and full of life has left us all alone in this world without her.

In loving memory of Rachel Swirsky z"l (1979 -- 2012)