Quiet Mountain Essays

Copyright © 2009

The Shadow of Death
by
Marla H. Thurman

       
The truth of it usually smacks me hard in the face in the deep dark of night, when I am alone in the
house with my dogs, huddled under blankets for warmth and protection:  I am going to die.         
My peace is shattered in an instant.  Sometimes I feel a flutter in my chest immediately after the
thought comes and I think, will it be now?  Am I going to die tonight?
      
Other nights I simply lie in bed and stew.  One day, I understand, I will no longer be here.  I will
simply cease to exist.  On these nights I sleep not a wink, thinking perhaps that I can outwit death if I
only keep my eyes open.  We hear of people dying in their sleep; we rarely hear that they died awake
in the bed at night.

Some awareness that I am mortal is good for me, I suppose, but living in a heightened, gnawing
death anxiety is not.  I worry whether my life has mattered, if I have made a difference, if anyone will
miss me.  I wonder why, if God exists, and I believe She does, She would create beings that would by
their very definition be aware that death was coming sooner or later.
       
This is not a phase.  I shuddered at the thought of death even as a teenager, the time of life when most
people believe themselves to be invincible, or at least romanticize death when it does come to mind.  I
have feared death my entire life.  It has caused me a great deal of grief and has ruined some
potentially very happy moments.  Even birthdays wreak havoc on my peace of mind, reminding me
that I am mortal.
       
I'll be forty-four years old in two weeks.  Or will I?  The question is valid, and the answer is, out of
necessity, we'll find out in two weeks.  If I happen to die, I know already that it can no longer be
considered a tragedy.  Tragic deaths only happen to the young.
       
One of the reasons for my peace-shattering obsession is that I have come close to dying.  A few years
back, a rather eventful surgery turned into a twenty-one day hospital stay during which I nearly died
and pretty much wanted to.  I blame that and similar lapses in judgment, those instances of longing
for death, for my present fear.  If I had never had these thoughts, though, my eventual death would
still be an inescapable fact.  So why the excess worry?  Does a person give up some very important
hold on life when she wishes herself dead?
       
My doctor does not comfort me.  "We're all going to die," she tells me truthfully enough.  I have
responded repeatedly with, "I know that, but I'd like to put off the inevitable as long as possible."
       
That rare breed in such a hurry to die help not at all.  "Oh, I can't wait to be with the Lord."
       
"Well," I want to say, "You go on ahead.  I'll be happy to take whatever years you don't use up."
       
So where do I find peace from this death anxiety?  Anywhere I can, that's where.  I comfort myself:
Grandmother did it.  Granddaddy did it.  Marianne did it.  I go through the list of all the people I've
known and loved who have died, and I try to tell myself, if they did it, I can, too—when the time is
right.
       
I try laughing at death.  I tell morbid jokes.  Sometimes this brings a smidgen of peace.
       
Knowing I am not alone in my fear is comforting.  Carly Simon has had my heart and my extra cash
since I was a teenager, because she sings what I feel in the deepest part of my soul.  When she was
stricken with breast cancer years ago, I held my breath until the threat of death from that, at least,
was but a memory.  

I saw an interview with Carly, in which she was asked, "Were you afraid of dying?"  Carly answered,
"Not any more than usual."  I was thinking, this is a woman after my own heart.
       
I am comforted by my faith, but not in the ways one might imagine.  I hope Heaven exists, and I
hope I eventually get there.  But with faith comes one very important truth, and it is this truth which
gets me through most of my high anxiety days, and which allows me to sleep most nights even as the
idea of death intrudes.  That truth is this:
       
There is a God, God is good, and God is in control of the universe and all it holds.  No momentary
death wish can change this fact.   No matter what happens to me, no matter what illness befalls me or
injury I incur, absolutely nothing will kill me before my appointed time to die.  Likewise, no amount
of worrying, no fear of dying and fading into oblivion, no begging or pleading ... absolutely nothing
will extend my life beyond my appointed time to die.
       
I am not in control.  I never was.  And when I know that, to the very root of my being, my peace is
restored . . . until the next time.

Contributor's Notes...

Marla H. Thurman is a writer living in Signal Mountain, Tennessee with her dogs, Oreo and Sleeper.  She has
published numerous articles, essays, and stories, in such publications as The National Catholic Reporter, The
East Tennessee Catholic, Common Ties, and Sage of Consciousness Ezine.  Ms. Thurman recently found an
agent curious about her memoirs.  Her dream is that one day her favorite author, Pat Conroy, will ask for her
autograph.

Home    Intro    Next Essay    Submissions    Fem. Links    Women's Res.    Calendar    Cool Links    Contact    
Archives