Fear of Death

Everyone is afraid of death. I, of course, was foolish enough to think otherwise until I came face to face with the hooded demon himself. It was a cold and stormy night on the day I died. I was lying down in the hospital bed trying to get some sleep and to rid my mind of the worries of the disease that was attacking my heart. The doctors had tried to explain to me what they themselves had trouble comprehending. The disease, myocarditis, was causing inflammation to the muscles around my heart, giving me regular shocks of pain, almost like a heart attack, every few hours. Sometimes the pain was bearable and I wouldn't complain. At other times the pain was unbelievably fierce. Like a knife was being driven into my chest. I later came to find out that myocarditis can be transferred via spider bites, which would explain a large rash on my left arm. The disease didn't fully make sense to me at the time, it wasn't until long after my release from the hospital that I came to know the true nature of my condition. But this story is even more frightful. Everyday I was in that hospital I found myself closer and closer to death. There was a point where I was certain I was going to die. Though I was able to fight off the illness, an image is still engraved into my mind. An image that continues to haunt me to this very day. I was asleep at the time but was pulled from my slumber by the sound of footsteps down the hall. Assuming it was a nurse, I tried to dive back into my dreams. Than I heard the footsteps stop right outside my room. My first thought was that it was a nurse coming to take my blood, but what I witnessed was as unexpected as it was frightening. I looked to the doorway and saw the silhouette of a tall man in a hood.

The man did not speak to me but rather held up one of his hands and pointed at me. I recognized the figure from folklore and tales of the collector of souls. The man in my room was Death. The manifestation of the end of life was standing in my hospital room. He got closer. He walked... no floated closer to my bed. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he reached out to touch me. I could not describe the horror I felt in that moment. I had never considered myself to be afraid of Death. I knew that everyone died sometime. I thought I could accept the ending of my life but in this moment I realized the fear I had of the being before me. I closed my eyes as he continued to reach down.

I reopened my eyes, expecting to see the hooded figure again, but instead I woke up to a nurse shaking me awake. "We need to take your blood again honey," she said in a soft tone of voice. The dream distilled in me a more respectful fear of death. The ignorance of my bravery was gone, but I now had a deeper understanding and respect for fear and the role it plays in all of our lives.

Fear is a deterrent. Fear helped me fight off the sickness that was threatening my very existence. Don't misunderstand, bravery, in certain situations, can save lives, but fear, under very different conditions, can shock you out of insanity. I now see that it was crazy to give up hope, it was utterly ridiculous to stop trying. The fear that this dream had bestowed upon me gave me the power to live. Don't think for a second, though, that this story is fiction. I assure you it is true. I do not, however, believe that the dream was a sign of divine intervention. I know the dream was just a dream. An image created by my own mind to help me through a stressful time of my life. I needed to be afraid. I now realize that despite what others say, everyone fears DEATH.