For most of my life, I thought if I tried hard enough, understood enough, and optimized enough, I could outsmart all the chaos in life. I thought if I worked really hard, loved deeply, and stayed sharp, I could protect myself and my family from suffering. Then I got sick.

Hyperthyroidism hit me hard. I felt an illness I never experienced before. Nights without sleep but also overwhelming exhaustion. My body wouldn’t rest but didn’t have energy to function either. Simple things like walking to the bathroom felt impossible, like I was dragging something incredibly heavy. My muscles hurt. My chest felt tight. I struggled to breathe even standing still. My body hurt, but the worst part was feeling my sense of self falling apart. It was like the core of who I am couldn’t be trusted anymore.

It wasn’t just discomfort. It was like getting a glimpse of what dying might feel like. Not death as an idea, but death as a slow process. The gradual loss of all the things that make you feel like yourself.

The scariest part wasn’t the idea of dying itself. It was the slow unraveling while still being alive to feel it happening. That realization changed something inside me, and it didn’t leave quietly.

Death Is Not a Problem to Solve

I used to think having the right mindset or preparation could help me avoid being afraid of dying. But now I see there’s no way around death, only through it. You can’t solve mortality. But there’s something else, something deeper.

Death is inevitable. Suffering is possible. But fear isn’t mandatory.

This is how I live now. Fear usually comes from resisting the truth, not from the truth itself. When I was trying to control everything, my health, my thoughts, my future, I was always afraid. But when I softened into accepting what was actually happening, I found something unexpected. Grace.

This isn’t about giving up. It’s about giving in. Giving in to the moment, to the process, and to the fact that life isn’t something you control.

How This Shapes My Life Now

Since then, I’ve stopped living like legacy depends on what I build. Instead, I started living like the real legacy is being present.

My kids won’t remember if I solved every problem. They’ll remember how I showed up when problems couldn’t be solved.

If I can face fear calmly, they’ll know fear doesn’t have to control them.

If I can suffer without losing myself, they’ll know peace isn’t about having no pain, it’s about not resisting.

If I can move into uncertainty without trying to conquer it, they’ll know love can exist even inside the unknown.

I still optimize. I still build things. But now, I don’t do it to escape death. I do it because I love life, even knowing death is always there.

What This Means for My End

When the end comes, slowly or suddenly, I don’t want to fight it like it’s an enemy. I want to meet it like a companion I’ve spent years getting to know.

I’ve written down my thoughts, fears, and beliefs, not just for me, but for my family. So they’ll know how I saw life. So they’ll know that even in loss, there was clarity, grace, and love.

I don’t want to be remembered for resisting death. I want to be remembered for embracing life, even when it was falling apart.

If You’ve Felt This Too

If you’ve suffered and wondered, is this what dying feels like? If you’ve felt afraid of slowly losing your body, your mind, your sense of self, if you’ve stood at the edge of your own vitality and felt emptiness looking back, you’re not alone.

The fear you feel isn’t weakness. It means you’re awake.

But you don’t have to let fear control your life. You can walk with it. Learn from it. Let it soften you.

Because here’s the paradox. The more you accept death, the more alive you become. The more you let go of control, the clearer you see. The more you sit with pain, the more space you make for love.

And strangely enough, that’s how we really start living.