Facing Your Own Death: A Key On The Path To Truly Living

By Sally Saint


I looked at my son today as he woke, his eyes sleepy in that daybreak way, the light soft around him and that lovely smell that is his and his alone. I touched his cheek and shoulder, the softness of his skin, and inside something broke.

The reality that one day my body will stop working and one day I will not be beside my son in human form. My belief in life after death is 100%, but the reality that one day I would not be able to touch his cheek and hold him in my arms broke me.

As I write this piece I am crying, for these tears are for me, my passing. My dropping of this physical form and the reality of leaving this body.

Last year I supported my son when he opened up to death and he started the process of understanding that one day I would die. He had asked me if everyone had to die and whether and when I would. I said one day, yes my body would die but my spirit was for ever, and that I would always be with him.

He cried, I remember his concerns were who would cook for him and sing him to sleep. That he could look after the dog but he couldn’t manage the rabbit and he wasn’t sure he could drive the car to school. He looked at me and cried and cried at the thought of me not being there.

I held him and let him cry and he eventually fell asleep. At the age of 6 my son faced it; at the age of 45, I am allowing myself to do the same.

I have faced the death of others many time, as a child on a farm it was part of life, I would nurture all the sick animals, from a poorly duckling, lamb, and anything I could care for. At one time there was an animal graveyard in my mums flower bed, with all my loved ones in.

As I grew my dogs, cats and horses all had their life span and I always stayed with them when they passed, quite a few had to be put to sleep over the years and I was there. It held no fear for me, I loved them enough to be there for them no matter what and in my arms they would pass away to peace.

I did the same with my father, after years of illness, when he passed over I was there. When he took his last breaths, and with the assistance of a nurse I washed him. Then the undertakers took there role.

Over the years I have thought about my death and there have been those dark times when I honestly didn’t wish to be here. Traumas had eroded my expectancy of life, so my concept of death was was on a level with my living. There were many times it didn’t seem to matter either way.

The pain I feel today though is overwhelming. Why? Because I have so much to live for now.

In facing my own death I see how very much I have in my life. I feel happy in my home, I want to see my child’s milestones, his exploring the world, having a partner and children of his own. I am finding so much joy in my work but the most beautiful thing of all is in just being I find joy. Being me, trusting the magic of life, dreaming and believing.

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