dying · religion

On dying

Woody Allen once said “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”

There is no way to adequately deal with death.

Despite being the only predictability it always seems to hit  unexpectedly, haphazardly. Inevitable but anarchic, it turns your  stomach inside out, leaving disordered and painful ruminations on your  own existence and those close to you.

The passing of a cancer-stricken uncle earlier this year (in Pakistani parlance, a family friend) is the first time death feels as close as a cold breath.

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