At first I was afraid to die.
I could not comprehend the absence of being. The absence of everything. The house slept, but I remained awake and burdened. My heart pounded, and I began sobbing heavily. The room blurred, as my breathing became desperate. Tears became a flood, and I could taste acidic snot as my head began throbbing.
Though she might not remember this, my mother came to comfort me. My mom put her arm around me and spoke slowly. She told me to take a deep breath. This should not be a worry for children with a single-digit age. It would be a long time, she said. I would not die for a long, long time.
At such an age, a small person has a limited concept of time. Lack of perspective was most of the problem.
I am aware now that our lives unfold in chapters and surprises. My worst moments no longer occur almost every other day. I am aware of my inability to predict the future with certainty. I am aware more than ever of a looming ignorance which humbles me. Surprise is a gift from our lowercase god; ignorance is a blanket to cling to for relief. I take great comfort in my inability to comprehend.
I don't mean to say that I am not a curious fellow - I am in every sense - but I do not fret when I cannot possibly understand that which no human ever has.
It is mine to sit. It is my life to steer. It is all I have to choose any direction at will. I am moving forward toward the day I become mulch. I am suspended in space as I deteriorate.
I still cannot comprehend the absence of being. One day I will, or one day I won't. It is not my position to be the first-ever all-knowing. I would abhor such responsibility.
Relax, fellow human. Let out your breath. Look at your hands. At the absolute most, this moment is all that we know.