I was terrified of it when I was very young, but it was a specter then. When I was 14 years old, my father broke his neck in front of me. He lived more than 20 years beyond that, but died prematurely due to being a quadriplegic. From the moment of my father's injury onward, death was real to me. I think about it on a daily basis. I wish that weren't the case. I am not ready for it, and I don't expect that I will be. Death has visited my family, and premature death threatens family members and friends of mine. Of course, it might threaten me too, but I am unaware at this time.

In a good moment, I can appreciate a kind of poetry about the condition of being an immortal-seeming consciousness in a mortal body, but mostly the cold reality that death is brutal and arbitrary washes that away.

I saw a hit and run victim covered with a bloody white sheet last week.

I'm infinitely happy that I have life, and it's well worth the caveat that it's going to end. However, I have no idea what a healthy outlook on death would be. I'm pretty sure what a healthy outlook on life looks like, and I do my best to concentrate on that.