Death: Is It The End? Or a New Beginning?
People have been dying for as long as they have been born. Consequently, death, in short, marks the end of the life of a person or organism.
The conclusion of an agreement or term can signify death. The word “death” is rooted in the Latin word “mort.” Terms like “mortgage,” “mortuary,” and “mortal” carry nuances tied to death.
Mortgages and the Concept of Death
You make periodic payments on a property when you have a mortgage. Ultimately, the loan ends when the debt is paid in full; however, it can also end when payments cease, resulting in foreclosure.
Moreover, people generally view a full mortgage repayment as a positive outcome, often called a “good” death. Conversely, on the other hand, foreclosure is often seen as a negative event, a “bad” death.
Mortuaries and the Physical End
Mortuaries prepare bodies devoid of the soul or life force for burial.
Some souls even incarnate into this world with the purpose of preparing bodies for burial.
If death were not an integral part of existence, there would be no need for standardized procedures or a regulated industry to address it.
Think about it!
Humanity’s Relationship with Mortality
The concepts of mortality and immortality have intrigued humans since they lost their understanding of life and death. Furthermore, this loss coincided with the introduction of fear into the human psyche.
In addition, humans, once aware of death’s purpose in relation to life, spurned mortality and romanticized immortality.
Consequently, death exists to complete a cycle, returning souls to the “unseen” plane after they have provided and experienced the events they agreed to before incarnating on the physical plane.
The Quest for Immortality
The rich and powerful have often sought immortality, driven by a desire to extend lives of luxury and opulence indefinitely. Death, with its inherent uncertainty, became something to abhor.
While wealth and influence could control life’s events, they held no power over death.
From their privileged perspective, such individuals could see others—embodied souls—unaware they had chosen the lives and conditions they were experiencing.
The Role of Introspection
Introspection allows us to reflect on our lives, examining the motivations behind our decisions and the thought processes that guided them.
Through stillness and reflection, we realize that death strips us of our knowledge, worldly influence, and access to material wealth.
Many souls incarnate on the physical plane. They are indoctrinated into belief systems and educational frameworks designed to make them controllable, productive, and employable. These systems ensure the continuation of societal norms and industries.
The Cycle of Reincarnation
After death, souls are reincarnated into other physical planes; consequently, they are often subjected to the very systems they once helped maintain.
While anyone can awaken to the true nature of this world, few, however, possess the bravery and capacity to embrace true individuality and independent thought.
Death, while inevitable, moreover, holds lessons about life’s purpose, the systems we create, and the cycles we perpetuate.
Separating from the Herd
Humans naturally gravitate toward herd mentality—a social construct that fosters security and power in numbers.
However, this collective mindset often comes at the expense of individual spiritual evolution.
Breaking free from the crowd to walk alone requires immense courage and introspection, and such acts of separation occur infrequently.
A Personal Loss: The Passing of My Grandmother
On June 24, 2009, my paternal grandmother passed away at the age of 85, completing her life cycle. She had been battling dementia, and I was fortunate to spend meaningful moments with her before she became bedridden and nonverbal.
I stood by her bedside and explained to my five-year-old daughter that her great-grandmother was already gone and that what we were seeing was residual energy animating her body.
Lessons from the Past
This moment brought back memories of witnessing my paternal great-grandmother’s final days when I was a child.
She, too, became bedridden and nonverbal in my grandmother’s home. My grandmother, however, was vibrant, wise, and deeply invested in my education.
She prepared me for adulthood by presenting me with real-life scenarios to learn from, never underestimating my ability to grasp complex concepts.
A Lesson on Friendship
One particular memory stands out. Around age 7 or 8, I asked my grandmother if I could visit my childhood friend, who lived nearby.
With a stern look, she said, “Friend? You don’t have any friends. Your friends will f*** you over!”
The seriousness in her tone was unforgettable. She eventually let me go, but her words stayed with me, their truth manifesting in an experience soon after.
A Childhood Lesson in Betrayal
In school, I conspired with my friend to prank a new girl by writing her a love letter, pretending it came from him.
I crafted a heartfelt poem, included gifts, and delivered it. To my surprise, my “friend” ended up dating her, reaping the benefits of my effort.
Feeling betrayed, I confessed to the girl that I had written the letter. She accepted my offer to be her boyfriend, but the fallout was swift.
My former friend confronted me during recess. I later learned that the girl didn’t want to be with either of us. Her brief stint at our school affected our friendship deeply. My grandmother’s warning was validated.
Reflecting on Loss and Legacy
I wasn’t overcome with sadness when my grandmother passed away. I cherished the memories of her wisdom, her love, and the lessons she had imparted.
Her life felt complete, and I celebrated the fullness of her journey.
At the time, I was a 28-year-old man navigating a failing marriage. I had been living with a woman who openly admitted she no longer loved me for six months.
My grandmother’s life lessons resonated deeply. This provided guidance during this tumultuous period of my life, even though my understanding of death was limited.
Learning from her passing, I discovered that even in loss, memories of a life well-lived can offer warmth and clarity.
The Weight of Closing Chapters
My grandmother’s death, coinciding with the dissolution of a pivotal chapter in my life, brought a sense of finality.
It felt almost natural to let it crush me, to surrender to the heaviness and accept the end of a torturous chapter.
Her passing signified the successful completion of her life’s assignment, just as the chaos and loneliness of my failing marriage began to recede.
The end of my marriage, though painful, was a “good death” for me—a necessary conclusion to move forward.
Grappling with the Concept of Death
Many dread the loss of a loved one, often consumed by grief and sadness. As a child, I shared these feelings, believing that death meant eternal separation.
The simplistic explanations offered—Heaven for the “good,” Hell for the “bad”—did little to comfort me. Instead, they added pressure, making me feel that one mistake could seal my fate.
As I grew older, I questioned the narrative. How could anyone live a single lifetime, navigate every challenge perfectly, and secure a spot in Heaven?
The thought was overwhelming. Moreover, the depiction of Heaven seemed devoid of the pleasures that made life enjoyable—relationships, freedom, even vices like smoking and drinking.
Experiencing the deaths of several family members as a child, I began to fear how often I might feel such intense grief.
The thought of losing immediate family members felt unbearable.
Yet, I hadn’t yet come to an “overstanding” of death; in fact, it was a concept I avoided confronting deeply. Consequently, I preferred instead to build emotional walls to shield myself from its impact.
My Father’s Final Chapter
On January 25, 2021, my father passed away at the age of 64, completing his life cycle.
A few months earlier, in September, he had an episode of excessive drinking that left him weak and struggling.
“Despite his condition, his work ethic prevailed; consequently, he insisted on mowing my lawn, pushing through physical limitations.”
My father had a preexisting heart condition, sarcoidosis of the lungs, and gout. We had several conversations about his health, and during our last heart-to-heart, I implored him to take better care of himself.
He acknowledged the seriousness of his situation; however, his struggles with alcohol remained a constant battle. In fact, alcohol was his release valve, a way to cope with life’s frustrations.
A Father’s Legacy
My father, though he kept much of his pain to himself, provided, disciplined, and advised me as I needed.
During our final meaningful conversation, he, therefore, passed the mantle of family leadership to me. That Christmas, he brought me food, and we shared a quiet evening watching Home Alone.
We embraced as he left, and in hindsight, it felt as if it was meant to be our last moment together.
The Final Moments
In late January, my mother and nieces returned home from a trip to find my father unconscious on the kitchen floor.
I dismissed the seriousness of my mom’s call, assuming it was another episode he would recover from, when she told me he was on his way to the hospital.
But decades of heavy drinking had taken their toll, and this time, there was no recovery.
My oldest niece called early Monday morning to tell me that my father was gone. I was awake and my mind was clear, and I processed the news calmly.
I didn’t feel the need to see his body or attend the funeral—I had already said my goodbyes during our final moments in September and on Christmas.
Processing Loss
In the days following his death, I turned to introspection, sharing videos and writings on social media to process my emotions and thoughts.
This reflection brought clarity and peace, helping me “overstand” death not as an end, but as a transition.
The lessons from both my father’s and grandmother’s deaths taught me that grief, though painful, can be transformative.
Death isn’t something to fear or avoid but a natural and integral part of life’s journey.
I found the strength to carry their legacies forward. I embraced the lessons their lives had left behind through acceptance and introspection.