Death is not the end

Lately, a few friends, while chatting halfway, seem worried and keep saying the same thing, softly but seriously—“Don’t die too fast." I replied, "I'll try" " and I find myself wondering... what part of me gave that away? What quiet part of my being whispered to them that I might be slipping?

Still, I count myself lucky. No, blessed. To have more than one close friend — to have so many chums who love me with a depth that humbles me. They’re close to my heart, stitched into its seams. And I never take that lightly.

For someone like me—a queer, single guy—friendship has never been just a chapter in life. It’s the whole book. My friends are the ones who fill in the blanks where a romantic partner never stood. They hold me together, anchor me in the now. Honestly, I believe it’s friendship, not romance, that carries us through the long days and the darkest nights.

But that love, that deep connection, can be frightening too. It comes with the weight of knowing your absence might one day break their heart. That your name might become the reason someone cries. And as much as I promise them I’ll try to live as long as I can… the truth is, none of us gets to decide. Death isn’t something we can outpace. It's the one uninvited guest that always shows up, eventually.

The Buddha's journey began with a profound realization: despite his royal status, he was not immune to the universal truths of aging, illness, and death. This awakening propelled him to abandon his opulent life in pursuit of understanding and liberation from suffering.

Embracing the life of an ascetic, Siddhartha Gautama subjected himself to extreme deprivation, believing that self-mortification might lead to enlightenment. He fasted to the brink of death, his body reduced to skin and bones—a state immortalized in various artworks depicting his emaciated form. However, this path of severe austerity did not yield the answers he sought.

Recognizing the futility of extreme practices, the Buddha adopted the Middle Way—a balanced approach avoiding both indulgence and self-denial. Through this path, he attained enlightenment, realizing that suffering stems not from external conditions but from the mind's attachments and aversions.

This insight underscores a central tenet of Buddhism: the impermanence of life and the importance of mental equanimity. By accepting the transient nature of existence, one can find peace amidst life's inevitable challenges.

As Zen Master Dae Kwang aptly stated, "The question isn’t 'How do I avoid old age, sickness, and death?' The question is instead 'What are we?' 'Why do we suffer?'" . Embracing this perspective allows for a deeper understanding of the human condition and the path to liberation.

I learned that the hard way when I lost my father. He passed while I was battling cancer, and he had pneumonia. Neither of us could be there for the other. I wasn’t with him when he left this world, and that guilt buried me for a long time. I kept thinking I could have done more, should have done more. But I realize now… I wanted to keep him here for me. So I wouldn’t miss him. So I wouldn’t feel the ache of absence. That wasn’t love—it was longing, dressed in love’s clothing.

Grief, I’ve come to see, can be so selfish. But healing began the day I accepted his death—and my role in it. I couldn’t do more for him then. But I can do more because of him. I can honor him by doing good for others. I can turn that pain into purpose.

So if a day comes when I’m no longer around, please don’t let sadness take root too deeply. Remember me laughing. Remember my terrible jokes and how I made you roll your eyes. Remember that I’m not truly gone—I’m woven into the fabric of your life. I’ve been beside you at your brightest, and especially during your darkest. If I cross your mind, that’s where I am. Right there. With you.

You already carry everything you need to smile, to laugh, and even to cry. Let your grief become kindness. Let your sorrow turn into service. Do more good in my name.

I will always love you. And that love? It never dies.