I'm not someone that often ponders the bigger questions in life. I don't like it when things get deep, or spiritual. But every once in a while, I - like all people - am struck by my own mortality. Something will happen to remind me that I'm mortal, as are all those I love, and one day we will all die.
Generally, when these questions arise, I do all I can to push them away. Denial, denial, denial. That's my way. Why? Because there are no answers to those big questions. Where do we go? What happens to us when we die? There is no definitive way of knowing what happens until our own time comes, and I'd rather not think about it. I don't want to think about the possibilities, or the lack thereof. It's depressing, terrifying and sometimes rather nauseating. I like to think that I'll see all my loved ones again, that we'll meet again on the other side. Is it wishful thinking? Yes, and possibly no. I don't know.
Recent events have reminded me of all these questions, questions I'd rather shove to the bottom of a pit inside me. There are those that say death makes them feel more alive, but for me I only become intensely aware of my own mortality, and the mortality of those I love. I don't ever want to lose those closest to me, and yet I know that some day I will. It's a hard realization to swallow, despite my having known it all along.
I guess that's why they say you should live each day as though it were your last, never take the people and time you have for granted. This is very true, and I try to take it to heart, but I'd rather enjoy my loved ones without the morbid cloud of doom. And so, I return to my favourite coping mechanism. Denial. Denial. Denial. Perhaps it's not the best method, but it's mine.