Life Is a Song; It Ends When It Ends

Eleven-year old Summer Lin was struck and killed by a school bus less than a mile from my house. The lyric in the title of this post is currently haunting me. Life does end when it ends, and no one knows when that will be. Actuaries can give you statistics of likelihood based on your demographics, genetics, and current state of health; but statistics are only your insurance company’s best bet that they’ll collect more in premiums than they’ll have to pay your next of kin. According to those kinds of calculations, Summer should have lived 70ish more years.

Image by Wix

We’re all one car accident or cancer diagnosis away from having our lives taken at any time. Some people live with the Sword of Damocles hanging in a pendulum over their heads as their body chemistry swings from one extreme to another. Others live in blissful ignorance, maybe wasting their precious time doomscrolling while traitorous cells slowly metastasize in the background. I may not ever know the former or the latter until it comes for me (hopefully not in the form of a mushroom cloud. I don’t exaggerate; Trump scares me that much.)

We all live with the terminal illness called our lifespan. Some people are able to put it out of their minds; I usually can. Is that a good thing? It is for my peace of mind, but this thought dogs me—“what if this is actually my last day, and I’m spending it on Reddit?” When was the last time I told my loved ones how much I care about them? I can’t stand to think of them suffering the way I know I will suffer in (please God) two decades when I will have lost my parents.

In my thoughts, I avoid the topic of death. Is that copium, or self care? On the one hand, an ever-present specter of death can make a person prioritize what’s important to them; on the other, it could cause a miasma of preemptive grief that clouds their moments of joy.

When it comes to making peace with death, is there even a way? I don’t think most people can “spend every day as if it’s your last.” The bills aren’t going to pay themselves. People can get scared by random “I love you” calls, so I’ll not be doing that just to ease my own mind.

The saying “nothing is certain but death and taxes” isn’t as glib as it sounds. It costs money to be a citizen and have clean water and roads to drive on. And, of course, there is nothing more certain than death. I don’t want to die, but I also don’t want to outlive everyone I love. (Or do I? There’s something to be said for going last to spare others from suffering.)

I guess my relationship status with the Grim Reaper is “it’s complicated.”

To Summer’s parents: I will never forget your baby’s name or that she was here for 11 years. I’ll never forget October 9th, 2025. Rest in peace, sweet child, and may your memory be a blessing to all who knew you.