Death has been circling really close lately. Recently, I had a funeral of a loved one happen. I had one before the semester started and, realistically, there’s another one soon. All of it has put death in the back of my mind more than usual.
I personally take dying lightly. I almost shuffled off this mortal coil back when I was 15. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t even memorable. There was no fade to black, no big dramatic moment. I only remember coming back, feeling like everything in my body needed a jump start.
Ever since then, death hasn’t felt like a distant idea. I can’t say I’m terrified of the concept. It’s just something I recognize now: like somebody you used to know, passing by in a crowd—not close enough to touch, but close enough to notice.
And lately, I’ve been noticing it more, not in a way that scares me but in a way that makes me think. A crash on the highway, a name in a headline, a sudden phone call in the middle of the week–none of these moments are dramatic on their own, but they’re reminders. They make me look at my own life and the people around me a little differently, especially with everything happening to my stepdad’s dad right now.
He told us about a dream he had in the hospital: a long line in heaven, someone checking people in. When it was his turn, there was no test, no questions—just a gesture forward to keep it moving. He woke up sad he didn’t get to see his mom yet. Even in that imagined place, he still missed someone. That stuck with me.
I can’t say what heaven looks like. My step-grandpa saw something when he was close, but I saw nothing when I was. He’s older, someone who’s lived enough life to be ready for whatever comes next. I’m young, and somehow have already been touched by death before. I know now it’s not something to be scared of; that’s the scoop on heaven.
