Death anxiety.

TW: Death, suicide, murder.

Ever since ‘Oppenheimer‘ released, which I have been putting off seeing because I want to read much more about him before I see it, the line ‘Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.’ has been doing the rounds of the media. Now, I have heard this line before, and I was aware of its specific connection with the Trinity test even before the hype. But the constant talk of this, coupled with the discussion around whether it was ethical to drop the bomb (bombs, actually) and the opposition to it even from within the very scientific community which helped build it, has sparked even more interest in nuclear armaments. And in death & destruction.

Recently, a dear friend sent me a questionnaire to be answered as part of research for her daughter’s academic activity. It was titled ‘Death Anxiety’ and asked very interesting questions about death and my feelings about it.

They included statements like the following, where you had to agree or disagree and specify the degree of your agreement or otherwise:
1. I am afraid to die
2. I feel anxious or frightened about death
3. I find comfort in the idea of an afterlife
4. I’ve often thought of death
5. I fear a painful death
6. I wish to leave a legacy
…and so on, in a similar vein.

I was intrigued enough to participate. But after I answered those questions, I realised they may be confusing to interpret because they may seem inconsistent. But, for me, at least, they are not.

For example, while I do not fear death, nor do I find any solace in believing in heaven or hell, I have made arrangements as to what is to happen post my demise (any and all organs that may be harvested to be harvested and the rest of it to be donated to medical students to dissect, failing which, the remaining corpse, after the harvesting, may be disposed of in any way that is least harmful and inconvenient).

I also am fascinated by it to the point that I’ve thought intensively about how a murderer might kill someone, or someone dying by suicide might plan theirs (interestingly, while I have no intention of ever actually doing it, I have planned mine meticulously multiple times as an academic exercise; a reason why this post on Facebook is limited to a restricted audience that does not include my relatives, mainly my dear Maa, who is already freaking the fuck out when I talk on phone about burying bodies as I research a story I am writing), or what might go through someone’s mind just before the lights go out forever.

And then there’s the question of fear. You see, I’m not afraid of the actual final act of death but the slow, often painful (and not just physically), usually sad process of dying. I would hate to be handicapped with age or age-related issues. I don’t want to become dependent on others for physical, medical, financial, emotional, or spiritual solace. I don’t want to be a spectator to the sight of death approaching at a glacial pace, advancing in excruciating super slo-mo, and taking its own goddamn time to get to me. I don’t want my process of dying to cause any trouble to Kym or anyone who has ever loved, loves, or will love me. Indeed, I don’t even want to bother Kym (or anyone for that matter) with the burden of disposing of my corpse. I just do not want my death (or my inevitable journey towards it) to be anyone else’s problem but mine. And that is all that I fear.

That said, it does strike me (as ironically funny) that the ‘process of dying’ starts on the day we are born. Life, after all, is a death sentence right off the bat.

And then I wonder if there ever was a time at all when I was not dependent on people I loved and who loved me, if my parents weren’t ‘inconvenienced’ by all the trouble I gave them as a newborn, until even today, when sometimes, I am just amazed that my mother has so much patience with me, even when she’s 73, and I’m almost 51, or if Kymaia does not see my ageing as something that is part of her life (as she herself ages).

As humans, and mortals who are forever sliding down the slope where death awaits them at the bottom, we are so dependent on our families & friends, society & customs, beliefs & traditions, and our own bodies and minds (despite the abuse we put them through) that it is rather laughable that anyone, me specifically in this context, should think it (being dependent) as an anomaly or something we can avoid.

So, given the inevitability (of both, the process as well as the final act), what do we do then? Do we have a choice? Yep, as Red (from Shawshank Redemption) says,

‘It comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy living or get busy dying.’

Oh, and the questionnaire ended with: ‘What would you do if you knew you were going to die in a week?’, to which my answer was: Nothing different. Enjoy the week!