Why Death Doesn’t Scare Me, But Disease Does

I witnessed more than my fair share of death and loss of my closest family members. Over time, there was something that became very clear to me.

It’s not death that’s scary, sad or painful.

It’s witnessing the loss of life while still being alive. When the fire within us is extinguished slowly. From a burning bright yellow flame to a dim simmering blue on the verge of putting out. It’s when we become a shell or a breathing but slowly dying, lifeless existence. That is when nothing in the world seems sweeter than actual death itself.

Death is then nothing but a liberation.

I watched my sick fish struggle for its life for 4 days straight.

One of my favorite fish buddies in my aquarium died after fighting for its life for a week. Now, a dying plant, an insect, or a fish is not a “painful” experience for us humans. At least not something that calls for mourning and grieving.

A short lifespan is expected of these sensitive, brittle creatures.

Usually fish just die in a matter of 24 hours. They become weak, then perish.

But with this fish it was different.

Perhaps it’s because I witnessed his entire journey from a baby to a beautiful, cute, and lively fish, to then a lice-infested, paralysed, dying fish. He displayed immaculate strength for such a tiny creature. He was a survivor right until his final moments.

It wasn’t the first time he was attacked by fish lice. (Yes, fish get lice too). All the blood loss drained the strength out of him and his other buddies. My sister and I, managed to save him the first time. It was a yucky, disgusting process to remove each of those creatures from his body. Churned my stomach. But watching him swim and jump in all his glory after we rid him was worth the gross sight of fish lice.

The second time around with another round of lice attack, we couldn’t save him. The lice had done enough damage on him. All we could do was at least afford him a dignified death— one that is free of parasites. So we went through that stomach-churning, lice-ridding process once again, but this time to not much delight or reward.

The next couple of days were the most saddening to witness, to say the least.

The little guy could barely swim. He was now a floating lifeform with the spark inside him slowly putting out. He had stopped eating. His spine collapsed and he had become a limp, hanging fish. Some kind of a semi-circle.

But he was still alive.

After a couple of days, the other fish sensing his impending death, were already out to nip and feast on his beautiful tail. (That’s what fish do, they can be cannibalistic). We had to ward them away every minute. All the while, he was still breathing. Not many fish fight this way.

We were preparing to isolate him from the other fish when he finally took his last breath. Perhaps god heard his and our prayers because we couldn’t watch this buddy in his paralysed deformed state any longer.

Humans are like fish, but with more possibilities of disease, and a longer phase of dying.

What was a 4 day struggle for my little fish, translates to a 40-day struggle for a person. I’ve seen it.

When I look back at pictures of my family members taken a couple of months before their impending death, it still haunts me. They looked shriveled, and skinny and I remember how their flesh was ice-cold to touch. How they were reduced to 1/4th the person they once were.

I’d rather recall them in their lively days.

On the other hand, the death of my dog did not traumatize me as much, even though he was the one thing I was most attached to, even more than any human in my life. He certainly left a void in me, but he did not leave any trauma or deep wounds.

Because he left this world gracefully. The “dying phase” before his death only lasted for a day or two. And even then, he was still operating at 80% of his royal personality.

Since then I’ve come to realize. My fear of disease is not death itself, but the slow fade of life within us while we’re still alive.

The boon and bane of being human is that we are complex life forms in nature. We are privileged in the sense that we feel a larger spectrum of emotions. A consciousness that we can be made aware of, unlike other life forms.

But that also means we are prone to a larger spectrum of diseases.

Unlike animals, we can be dying for months and years before our actual death.

Hell and heaven could all be present on this very earth for us, in our very bodies, inside our very organs, and in our own heads — all depending on our subjective experience of reality. That experience is what we call life. And when it becomes hellish, or when we become incapable of experiencing anything, death seems rather tempting.

In all of this, I’ve learned that good health is really our greatest gift. Without it, we cease to experience life.

So be grateful. Not just for your health, but for your loved ones too. Enjoy it. Spend time with them before they shrink into 50% lifeforms. Show some love to your grandparents. Hear out their life stories while they can still fondly look back and narrate it.

It really doesn’t last. So make the experience memorable and lasting for you.