The Fear of Death

There is a fear that is never far from the surface of my mind: the Fear of Death.

I think at least seventy percent of my rushing and distracting and coping is an effort to avoid thinking about this fear; this weight; this feeling; this reality.

Yes, I try to avoid it but on one hand it is impossible to and on the other hand, I am, for some reason, drawn to its depths.

Well, actually, I think I know why: if I can just look death in the face enough, if I can just sit with it enough, maybe it won’t be so bad when it comes. Maybe like climbing as many walls and buildings and poles as possible to get over the fear of heights, I can keep scourging the rocky bottom of death until I can control it and the fear loses its power over me.

But the thing is, I have never experienced it. I can never really face it until I am really facing it. I am alive and my loved ones are alive and well.

I should say, I’m not afraid of dying at old age, or anyone I know dying at old age, but I am so, so, so afraid of dying suddenly, “before my time”.

My husband always tells me, “No one can possibly live one day more than they are supposed to.”

So I know whatever time death comes, it will be “time.”

From when I was as young as I can remember, I would lay awake at night absolutely terrified of dying. I remember cold sweats when I was little. I remember repeating the prayer in my head, “God, please don’t let me die. Please don’t let my family die.” And pleading with him that if one of us were to die, we would all die together. I would imagine our two-hundred-year-old house crumbling down on top of us, and think to myself, “at least we would all go together.”

I would feel the fear of death in every sunset, as young as five years old, looking out the car window at the golden light, a tear sliding down my cheek. The fear and sadness would be there, in my throat, even though I didn’t know why.

When I moved away to Africa and then Chicago as an adult, the fear didn’t cling to me so much. I think the distance from those I loved – and the distance I kept from letting anyone really see me – helped me keep the fear and love away from me. Also, I was DOING it, I was walking and running in the face of fears and because of that I felt invincible at times and the thought would go through my head, “if I died right now, I’d be okay. I’d know I have no regrets.” Because I was really living my life and life was hard and I could taste it on my lips and the burn felt good.

But when I’d go home even just for Christmas or something, the fear would come back. Laying in my childhood bed, after my parents kissed me goodnight, the fear would come back raging. Once I barely slept for 3 nights, just praying and praying, and quaking and quaking, and tortured by knowing that Jesus had let many of those he loved, many faithful ones, die young. So, what good were my prayers? I didn’t want to go anywhere alone during the day and the world felt like a facade, a smiley sticker slapped over bloodstains on the floor. When I finally told my family how I was feeling I could barely hold back tears, and they reminded me that God would be with us no matter what happened. The fear dissipated a bit.

This year, it’s come back. My life is so comfortable, SO comfortable, and I’m not doing anything to taste the burn of darkness. There is no darkness, it seems, for me to face in my reality – only this invisible weight clouding my mind, waiting, just waiting. I’ve read about a girl my age, a girl I went to school with but didn’t know, who loves to run and married a man named JP and has the most innocent big brown eyes. I’ve read her blog as she processes her own impending death. She has been fighting cancer for three years, and it doesn’t look good. Another girl I went to high school with but also didn’t know is facing the same situation, likely with months or less to live. The first is a Christian, the second, no idea.

And my parent’s friend died in a house fire. His boys are only in college and his wife’s last post said something like, “can’t wait to spend retirement going on adventures with my best friend.”

It’s a knife, it’s an absolute knife in my chest.

I am not so scared of someone I love dying, although if I think about it long enough, it brings a lump to my throat. I am not as fearful of it as much as it makes me sad. I can see me on the other side – getting through it, God with me, us grieving and growing together. It would be awful, but we would be okay.

What scares me in a way I feel from my head to my toes and all my insides is the thought of ME dying young. I’m not scared for my sake, when I think just about me. I have a million things to be grateful for and feel so thankful for everyone I love and my God. I know I would be with Jesus, and that would be divine.

My fear is about those I love, and it’s two-fold: I am so, so scared of leaving them without me. I am so, so terrified of causing them grief, of tearing their lives and their worlds apart with my absence. I’m scared because I could not be there for them, to comfort them, to walk with them, to encourage them and listen to them. I couldn’t save them.

I am also terrified – and this feels so ugly – when I think about them “getting through it.” “Moving on.” My husband is so good at grieving. He is so good at processing his emotions and appreciating the goodness in pain, in hardship, even death. He is so good at pressing in and moving forward, grown. I hate thinking about that. I hate thinking about me dying and him being torn apart and grieving and then being happy, living his life without me. Maybe with someone else. Literally I am trying not to sob thinking about that. and it is so, so selfish. Of course, I want him to be happy more than I would want him to be sad. But I just hate that he could be happy without me. That’s the ugly thing.

I know that these fears reveal deep and dark realities about me: that I see myself as savior for those I love, and not God. And, that I am prideful and selfish in my love for my husband. I want to be the only one he could love and be happy with – the only one who could save him. Again, savior mentality.

I also just don’t want to miss out on life with these people, these dear, dear people that I am so blessed to call me own.

I wish that death was not a reality, but it is. I wish that death before aging was less jarring and more accepted and normal, but it isn’t. I wish that if one of us died, we would all die together, at the same time, but we won’t. I wish death were something I could control, but it isn’t. I wish that God were the kind of God who would hear my prayer to not die young and answer it, but he isn’t, not necessarily. Not in a way I can trust, because people just like me, people more faithful than me in prayer and in devotion, have died young.

The thing is: we cannot live one day more than we are meant to. There is no “think of all the potential she still had, or all the things she wanted to do, or the children she wanted,” etc. because those things were never going to and could never happen. The life of each person was only meant for while they were alive.

The thing is: death IS defeated. “Even death is not death for the Christian.” If there is life after death for the dying, in Christ there is life after death for the ones who are still alive.

The thing is: I am NOT the savior – of my husband, my loved ones. God doesn’t need me to fulfill his plan in their lives. It is a gift that I get to be part of it for now. His goodness, His love, is enough to sustain them after my death, to sustain me after theirs. His life is enough for our life on this side of heaven and the other.

The thing is: God has not asked me to “figure out” death and grief right now. All I can do is be grateful for every single day, to “not worry about tomorrow”, to be thankful for my family and the many blessings I have and to know Christ and live and rest in his love. All I can do is be thankful and trust. Even now, God sees me and hears me. I am afraid that because I carry such an abnormal fear of death, and it weighs so heavily on me, it means he is going to have me or someone I love die young. Just to show me how he is enough in it. just to show everyone his strange and mysterious ways, when they read something like this and think, “wow, God knew what he was doing to have her process death so much before she died. Her death had meaning; clearly, it was no coincidence.”

Yeah, I get scared that God is like that. I get scared of his strange ways, his “trickery”, the “games” I think he’s playing. His rhymes and reasons. I will accept and believe that he is good by his definition of goodness. But I’ve lived enough to know that what he deems good is not always what I would, or what anyone else would. If his goodness allows for death and suffering, it is good only by a definition that transcends what I would like it to mean.

The thing is: it’s HIS plan. HIS world. HIS life. My life is HIS. So are the lives of my families, so are my relationships, my days. This is HIS world, and I am living in it, by His grace. It IS a good plan. I don’t have to have it figured out. I don’t have to hold the entire story of my life or anyone else’s; I can’t. but he does. Lovingly, he holds us. thoughtfully, delightedly, emotionally, closely, he holds us.

Whether I feel it or not, that’s enough for me “not to worry”; he commanded so. he is near to the broken hearted and fighting for them. He hated death enough to die for its defeat. He loves us.

I have felt fear weigh on me before, weighty, and full enough to bring me literally to my knees. And then to my face on the ground. Heavy enough that I cannot sleep or walk or barely move, just crawl. Beg. Pray, pleading. Like my life and hope depends on it. I was so so afraid when I was young that God wanted me to tell the world something that wasn’t true of me, to the point I was convinced it was true of me. Satan took something beautiful: my eye for beauty and deep appreciation for it, and something vulnerable: my deep insecurity about my body and weight – and kept it hidden in my soul until it became so distorted, so big and unbearable, I could think of nothing else, and I was crawling on the floor, thinking that God himself was maybe evil and that he wanted me to reveal a lie.

I was terrified, SO terrified, to tell someone about it. I mean shaking terrified. But I did. And then peace and joy engulfed me like a waterfall of light, more than I had ever known.

I was terrified of losing my significant other and being alone. Laying in my empty apartment in the middle of afternoon, and a cloud of darkness sitting on my chest and breathing death into my head. After we broke up, I was terrified of living without him. And it was dark and lonely, and it wasn’t easy. But God gave me the sweetest, most dear gifts from that pain: deep friendship with best friends who are still best friends, and a few people I don’t even remember, even just for such a time as that. And Lucy and Ricky and Jeff. The most precious gifts. And now, even, my precious husband and my family and this place.

I know what it’s like to have fear sit on you so staunchly that you feel utterly squelched by it, like your soul has fallen through the floorboards and into hell below, tethering you to the ground. And I know what it’s like to experience goodness, life, joy, and praise on the other side of it, intimacy with my Jesus, that is far greater and more solid than anything. I know what it feels like for fear to give way to peace.

“When peace, like a river attendeth my way

When sorrow like sea billows roll

Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,

It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet and trials should come

Let this blest assurance control

That Christ (Yes He Has) has regarded my helpless estate

And has shed His own blood for my soul

My sin, oh the bliss, of this glorious thought

My sin, not in part, but the whole

Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,

Praise the lord, praise the lord, oh my soul

And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight

The clouds be rolled back as a scroll

The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descent

Even so, it is well with my soul

It is well

With my soul

It is well, it is well, with my soul

God, please replace my fears with peace. Help my fears, and even death itself, only increase in us, in me – faith, joy, love, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and self-control. Intimacy with you. the delight of knowing and loving and being known and loved by you. Help me to trust you with my fears and with your plans and with my life. I love you, Jesus. Thank you that you have defeated death. Thank you that you are coming. Thank you that you are on this side of, in the midst of, and at the other side of death and fear. You have conquered it all. I love you.