This poem does depict how most people live...they are waiting for the best part to show up in the future! When all we really have or ever will have is right now! And, we need to be connected to it...and then we can truely say that we lived in...all of our moments!

I used to think this way. I spent years coming to terms with death. I thought I lost the fear of death and to some extent I did. It was just replaced by a bigger fear though as my body started to turn into a tomb of pain. I learned the real thing to fear is getting to death. Lucky for most people these states are rare but you can get locked into states of existing that are a living hell. Thankfully that won't last forever but they can be horrific things to go through. I will never say that phrase that not everyone e lives. We all live no matter how long or short, how happy or sad. There are many states of being alive, it's pretentious to think our way is better than another. We all walk our own path be it good, bad, or indifferent and everything we touch or see will be wiped away like a dream in the end so don't take it all too serious.

I don't fear death. It's hard to watch another person slowly die though as I found out with my husband last June. He died here at our home as he wanted. I was glad I was able to take care of him till the end as I knew he felt more comfortable here with me than in a hospital with strangers.

My mother lived out her last weeks in my home under hospice care. Hospice nurses patiently and gently taught me what to expect and what to do. And I was struck by the realization that at one time, EVERYONE knew all of this. We have pushed this natural part of life, the ending, so far away that we are afraid to think about, talk about or even acknowledge it. Something so taboo, so shrouded in mystery will certainly be feared. But society does not want to hear or talk about something "morbid." When I was young I sometimes had spells when I worried about death to the point where I couldn't sleep. But no longer.

No. Here is a repeat of my metaphor about the issue:

My old friend, the conductor to death, still waits quietly in the wings. But, as I go through my final years, I converse with him. I tell him that I do not hold his role against him as I know that it is the natural order of things. He responds that he appreciates both my understanding and my willingness to face reality. I tell him that I appreciate the fact that act when the time comes to relieve me from the agony of mental confusion and/or physical pain. He assures me that he will act. I share with him my reflections on aging as a process of being forced to give up many things that add quality to life , a time of loss of dreams and aspirations, a time when (with few new experiences) we are driven inward to reflect on past experiences. life chapters, successes, failures losses, memories. He tells me that such inward reflection is a healthy way for people to gain a sense of who they are, a process that is not possible in an aspiring young person. Such is the nature of our dialogue.

Both the conductor to death and know that when the time comes, he will step forward and say, 'it is time.' I will shake his hand, gesture for him to lead the way, and follow him into peaceful oblivion. That is as it should be. I find that most comforting."

To paraphrase Woody Allen, I'm not afraid of dying, I'd just rather not be there when it happens.

Death will be no more eventful than a sleep without dreams. That was my state before I existed and there was nothing wrong with that state. Therefore I conclude that there will be nothing wrong with my state of being after death. The process of dying may not be a comfortable experience however.

My deepest grief is for an unlived life.

I have no fear but I want to live.

It's easy to philosophically proclaim immunity to the fear of death, but I always find this sort of banter preposterous and disingenuous.

It's fine to say "let's live in the present," but courage has never been the absence of fear. I won't say all, but most people who say they aren't scared of dying are naive, or bluffing. Fear makes us human.

Isn't there a poetry group for this kind of thing?