I AM scared to death to even talk about death itself. I refuse to think about it, and words like dying, demise, or deceased instantly send shivers down my spine. It bothers me a lot, and I simply don’t know why.

 

Maybe I am among those—perhaps only a handful of us by now—who still believe that talking about death is taboo.

 

At home during my childhood, we were not encouraged to talk about it unless a relative or a neighbor close to us had died. Death was an awkward subject.

 

We would go to funerals and wakes, empathize and pray with the departed’s family. But that was about it. I couldn’t look into a coffin, whether I knew the person or not. It still freaks me out.

 

I realize that the universal fear of death and dying is so real to me. Maybe the reason I don’t want to talk about it is because I’m terrified to lose a loved one—those who are really, really close to me.

 

I don’t know if I can handle it when that time comes. I know we are all going to die, but I guess I just have to prepare myself for it. There’s no other choice.