This week: Towards the End Edited by: Kit  
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We all have a limited time on this planet. What shall we leave behind?
This week's Drama Newsletter is about death, and what comes after.
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I am not that old yet. Of a certain age, sure, but I should have a few more decades ahead of me. Unfortunately, my health is such that I’ve recently had to adjust my expectations. By how much I don’t yet know. There are some tests to be done. I am not looking forward to them, nor am I happy with these sudden developments.
For most of my life I’ve been afraid of death. I went through a gloomy emo phase as a teenager, when I thought that nobody could ever love me, and I’d be all alone forever, so what was the point in anything – it happens to many kids, I’m sure. Once I got through it, I’ve wanted to live my life for as long as possible. I’ve always figured that as long as my health holds up reasonably well, and my mind remains reasonably sharp, I’d be happy to reach a hundred at the very least. Should immortality ever become possible, I’d give it a good go. I like being alive, even if I don’t always like the exact circumstances I find myself in. Even then, it sure beats the alternative.
It’s a gloomy subject, I know, but this is the Drama Newsletter and works containing dramatic elements are no stranger to illness and death. There are different styles and strategies for handling these sensitive topics, but it’s generally acknowledged that they’re a part of existence that all of us must, inevitably, cope with, and therefore they have their place in literature. That doesn’t mean that they’re pleasant to read about. They’re themes that can trigger a range of emotions. Depending on the writer and their creation they can be handled subtly and sensitively or with brutal honesty. And there’s always the question of what happens after...
It’s the main thing that bugs me, if I’m honest. It’d be a whole lot easier if I had a deep, unshakeable faith so I’d be sat here in the safe knowledge that something good is waiting for me. I do believe in God, but I have a million questions – always have – and there’s this nagging thought at the back of my mind that when it comes to the afterlife we cannot know. Even amongst religious people there are different thoughts, opinions and beliefs about what comes after. Some talk about a paradise where we meet up with our loved ones, including our pets, and we will have this joyful existence in which we can run with wolves and swim with dolphins… That’d be my choice if I could choose where to go. Some talk about a more formal, structured Heaven. Some believe in a hell. Others believe in reincarnation. I’ve also met those who believe that when we die we’ll become one with this great, flowing force of energy. And, of course, there are people who believe that death is the end of our existence. That we come from nothing and will return to nothing. Many who believe that find it a soothing thought. I have the opposite reaction – nothingness terrifies me.
Perhaps it shouldn’t. As I’ve heard it argued, it’s not like I’ll know about it. When I contemplate the end of my ‘me’, though – that part of me that thinks, and hopes, and wishes, and experiences, and loves – I soon end up filled with dread. I can come to terms with leaving behind this body, and my current level of existence, but not with the end of my ‘me’. I would hope, naturally, that that ‘me’ ends up somewhere nice, wherever that may be. I would not like to end up in a place of eternal suffering. I want to meet up with my loved ones, both human and of the fluffy/feathery kind. I want to never have to part from them again. I’d love to learn, and explore, and be, without pain, and without fear. The fact that we do not know and cannot know where we will end up, if anywhere at all, is a harsh part of the human condition. I wish it were different.
There is a reason why we tear up when reading a poem about a rainbow bridge. Why we fear for the fate of beloved characters, mourn their loss or breathe a sigh of relief when they make it to the end of their journey, safe and sound. Death is with us, always, but when we can we try to ignore it, pretend its shadow does not hang over our every step – we convince ourselves that we have time. Time with our loved ones. Time for ourselves, to achieve our goals and realise our dreams.
I don’t know why life is the way that it is. Why it has to come to an end. Perhaps it’s the only way that it can be, but it feels cruel. Life consumes life in order to survive, and eventually each and every one of us has to go.
That is why, I guess, we search for meaning when we’re here. There has to be a purpose to it all, it seems… though I do not know what it is. Perhaps it is love. Kindness. Offering a helping hand to others who feel lost in a sea of confusion. Perhaps it is what we leave behind. A planted tree, to shelter future generations. Or our poems, and our stories, to give the gift of a smile or a tear to our readers.
As writers, our words can last long after our passing. I hope that when my time comes, the works in my portfolio will still show up in a search here and there and bring some joy.
Kit
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Drama: May 03, 2023 Issue [#11945]
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