Death is not a topic for the weak of heart. Those who have never held hands with it might find this post insensitive and cold. But I believe the others, the unblessed ones who one day had their souls ripped out by death, will understand me.

There’s no way for death to ever feel fine. It’s either too sudden, too slow, too agonizing, or too brutal. There’s no winning. There’s only going through it.

In the last few days, I’ve also realized that the questions death poses are nearly the same for everyone. Could I have done something? What if I had seen it coming? What if others die? What if it’s my children? When will this feeling go away? When will I feel like myself again?

We are different but, made of the same matter in the end.

Another key point I’ve noticed is that death is personal and non-transferable. By that, I mean that those who feel it can be dying inside, crumbling under the pressure of grief, while life moves on for everyone around them. No amount of empathy will ever make you feel a grief that isn’t yours. That solidifies my belief that, in the end, we are alone. No matter what — we are born alone, we feel alone, and we die alone. Even if there are hundreds of people around us. It does not change that.

My father-in-law died this week. Close enough to acknowledge that death is always lurking. We cannot control it; we can only live through it. Unfortunately, these are the perks of being alive.