Death has a way of cutting through the noise.
When someone dies—or even when something inside us does—we’re suddenly face-to-face with truth. Not the filtered version we show the world, but the raw, unpolished kind we often run from.
We spend our lives avoiding hard truths. We numb, distract, deny. But death doesn’t care about comfort. It doesn’t wait for the perfect moment. It doesn’t ask if you’re ready. It shows up, and it clears the room of everything fake.
What’s left is real.
The truth is this: time is limited. And once you understand that, the way you live begins to change.
You stop holding grudges. You say “I love you” more often. You speak up even if your voice shakes. You write the letter. You forgive the past. You become a little less concerned with how things look and a lot more concerned with how things feel.
Because when death gets close, the things we thought mattered—money, approval, ego—fall away. And the things we buried—grief, love, regret, truth—rise to the surface.
Maybe the lesson isn’t to fear death. Maybe the lesson is to let it remind us to be honest while we’re still here.
So tell the truth. Live like your time means something. Stop waiting for the perfect moment to be real.
You’re alive.
That’s enough reason.
“Each time a soul departs, the world loses a library built over a lifetime. That’s the weight of wisdom gone silent.”
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12 responses to “Death; the Truth”
Your quote at the end is heavy. Learning something today, we are libraries and we all have our stories, could be stupidity or wisdom, that is upto the next reader to decide but the undeniable truth is that we learn from the foolish and the wise both.
I’ve been exposed to death from a very young age, comes with extra large families and our elders never shied us away from this harsh truth. But understanding loss and grief has taken me a very, very long time. Learning to mourn the losses in life is a work in progress. We didn’t learn to grieve and now I know there is so much to mourn for. Still seeking how to make space…
I couldn’t agree more with your sentiments about grief. It’s a journey that doesn’t come with a roadmap, and each of us navigates it in our own way. I’m grateful that my comments resonate with you and that you find them meaningful. Your words are equally important to me, offering a unique perspective and understanding that I truly value.It’s a rare gift to be able to listen and understand even in silence, and I believe that connection allows us to support each other in profound ways. I look forward to our continued exchanges and the insights we share with one another.Thank you for being a part of this journey with me. You know I cherish my friends more sometimes more then the air we breath. You’re one of those friends. Thanks to you I feel like I can express myself to the world with your approval. Thank you for that.
-Jason
You’re putting too much value on my words Jason. You don’t need my approval, you’re a published author 😱… you know I love our exchanges too…
Ibaphimon… I hear you, and you’re probably right—I might be putting too much weight on your words, but that’s only because they carry meaning to me. Your voice has a certain gravity, and whether you realize it or not, it keeps me grounded in ways I can’t always explain.
Yes, I’ve published a book—but that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped needing real connection, or thoughtful reflection, or honest exchanges like the ones we share. Being a writer doesn’t make me invincible. If anything, it just makes me feel things deeper.
Your “friend”
—Jason
I’ll take that as a compliment… thankyou. You know I struggle receiving compliments too 😬.
Guess there’s a certain pressure with being an author…no one is invincible or infallible.. there’s a danger when one starts feeling that way.
You know you speak of the the quote at the end. That was another one of my grandmothers metaphors. It’s something that I’ll share as long as im here. She’d always say, “death Jason is natural, we’re all headed that way, but it’s the wisdom. That’s what we lose. The knowledge from that person. That’s the true loss.“ Iba the stories she had and the ways of life was truly the biggest loss of my life. 95 years to gain that kinda wisdom again. She was a master of survival meaning she lived through the rudest times of this world. Then the cycle remains. All of are knowledge will leave this earth one day. Let’s just hope we pass it down. The stories, the truth. ❤️
Thanks again,
Jason
She was right… imagine the wisdom they take with them in death… she lived for 95 years? That was a long and full life. Hopefully we have that much wisdom to pass it down.
Yes
I love this. I’ve read your post three times now and have been carrying it with me, contemplating how death changes us. It’s definitely a valuable shift in perspective.
Thank you Raven.
You are welcome, Jason.
Raven, I can’t thank you enough. Your words reached me in ways I didn’t expect, always. The depth of your reflection on my writing means more to me than I can say. I’m incredibly grateful to have a friend, someone like you in my life—your kindness, insight, and genuine spirit bring light even into the more shadowed places. Thank you for being exactly who you are. Seriously.
Your always friend,
—Jason