The articles on pages 71 and 83, "Fear of Dying" and "No Such Thing as Death," capture much of my perspective on mortality.
For nearly two months, I struggled with insomnia. Over the past three to four weeks, the sleeplessness became unbearable. On Monday, May 1, 2023, I finally decided to call and schedule a doctor’s appointment. The appointment was set for the next morning at 9:30 a.m. By 10:00 a.m., I was on my way to the hospital in an ambulance. My blood pressure had skyrocketed to over 240, and though I can’t recall the exact lower number, it, too, was alarmingly high. Upon arrival at the hospital, they rushed me straight to the ICU, where I spent all of Tuesday and Wednesday. Late Wednesday night or early Thursday morning, I was moved to a standard hospital room.
Fast forward to Sunday, May 7, 2023. My blood pressure has stabilized, but the stress test I underwent yesterday came back positive. This result confirmed there is blockage in my heart’s arteries. The treatment could range from a straightforward procedure to the more invasive and dreaded open-heart surgery.
This brings me to my beloved children, Carmen and Barry Jr. Over the years, I have had candid conversations with them about the inevitable. Death is a certainty, and I never wanted to avoid discussing it, as so many families do. Facing mortality head-on is, to me, an act of love and responsibility.
At 19 years old, I assisted my aunt in arranging my mother’s funeral. She transitioned at the age of 54. At 32, I assisted with my brother’s transition; he left this world after 33 short years. When I share these experiences, people often express their condolences. But my response has evolved over the years. I no longer view their passing in a sorrowful or morbid light. Their journeys were simply meant to be shorter.
If my own journey ends at 62 or 63, I’m at peace with that. Life’s path is predetermined in many ways, and if my time has come, I’m ready to move on to whatever comes next.
May 9, 2023, I’m feeling much better. My final hurdle is a cardiac catheterization scheduled for tomorrow. This procedure involves guiding a thin, flexible tube through a blood vessel to the heart, allowing doctors to diagnose or treat issues like clogged arteries or irregular heartbeats.
This morning, I found myself contemplating near-death experiences (NDEs) and out-of-body experiences (OBEs). What if they’re nothing more than vivid or lucid dreams? Perhaps when the body expires, we enter a cocoon-like state, preparing for whatever comes next. If this is true, our next life could begin within hours of our death or thousands of years later. The mystery of it all is humbling and oddly comforting.
Whatever lies ahead, I’ve made my peace with it. Life’s impermanence is its most profound teacher, and I’m ready for whatever lessons await me in the next chapter of existence.
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