As morbid as it sounds, death is a part of our everyday life, people [and creatures as it may be] are dying everyday whether it be sudden or expected, accidental, on purpose, or simply of old age.

I have been realizing lately that the way I see death may just be somewhat different to the way others experience and feel it, and I can’t help but to wonder if in fact my life has lead me to a point where I can accept it much easier than others.

And in turn that makes me wonder if it shouldn’t be this way, if in fact I should be more scared, less accepting, of death than I am.

I once had a friend who told me that she was petrified of dying, and in part I couldn’t quite comprehend how someone could be so scared of the unknown, or how someone could live their life worried about each day being their last.  I know that I worry about a lot of things – I mean I suffer from anxiety for goodness sake – but at the end of the day what I think about dying, I am not scared, I am accepting.

Another friend told me that it was because they loved their life so much that they were so scared of leaving this world and the people in it, so when I think about that, I begin to wonder if maybe it is a bad thing that I am not scared of death.  But no matter how I put a spin on it, I am just not afraid….

And in part, for this, I feel a little guilty….