Life is just too short

When I was young, I would lie awake on my bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about death. Thinking about how I would feel when I inhaled that last breath.

Would I feel as if I were suffocating?

Would it be like falling asleep?

Where would my soul go?

Would I remember my days on earth – my parents, my elder sister, my dog, Peter?

Then, each time, just as I was about to drift off into la-la land, I would be jolted awake by the memory of my pre-sleep thoughts.

Heart pumping as rapidly as the tears that ran down my 10-year-old cheek, I would run to Mummy, too afraid to fall asleep alone for fear of never seeing the sun shine again.

Fifteen years later, these thoughts have come back to haunt my nights.

I recently had a cancer scare. During an examination, the doctor discovered and removed a polyp.

I was petrified. To me, lumps meant cancer — and cancer meant death.

For one week, I was on an emotional roller coaster. During that period, Varsity was working on a couple of articles on death and funerals for this issue. Ironically, while editing the articles for Periscope (see Pp. 10 to 15), I found some sort of catharsis. My fear of death was not totally gone, but it was not as crippling.

Fortunately, the test results came back negative. I didn’t have cancer.

That incident made me look hard at life.

I’ve come to realize that life is too short to waste time crying over a bad grade.

Life is far too precious to waste being worried over whether I belong in an “in” group, or whether I dress fashionably. Even if I were to be branded an “Mk person” (see Pp. 26 to 27), it would not be the end of the world.

Life is just too short.

 

Alison Jenner

Copy Chief

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