[Existential Bread] What My Grandparents Taught Me About the Two Ways to Die

“Just toss me over the bank into the canal. It’s my time to die! Also…are we stopping to get ice cream on the way home?”
―My Grandmother, Circa 2012

My grandfather died in my house one summer while I was back from college. He was a Presbyterian minister, which would lead you to believe that he had the whole “death” thing figured out.

In truth, he was scared. He fought death to the end.

Seeing him broken down by cancer was traumatic, but what haunted me for years afterward was his lack of certainty.

If someone who spent their whole life believing that they were going straight to heaven was afraid to die…what chance did a liberal arts-educated, philosophy-minoring atheist stand against the big sleep?

Problem: Dissolution of Self

Back in January, Netflix wrapped up Bojack Horseman (SPOILERS) with a dizzying near-death experience where Bojack watches his friends and family members vanish into a pitch-black doorway.

Although I wouldn’t watch that scene for another eight years, it turned out to be a pretty accurate representation of how I felt about death at the time.