[ WP ] What happens when we die ?

At last. It is surreal, finally staring something so large and powerful in the face. Death was never this real to me before—it had always been a hovering shadow in the back of my mind, there and not there all at once, close while far away. Now there is no question about it. Death is real, here, nearly touching me, willing me to let go. 
 
 I ’ d imagined the moment hundreds of times, meeting Death. At first, I thought it ’ d come quick and fast in the night, taking me by surprise. It would be sly and quiet, ushering me out of this life when I least expected it. Then I figured Death would be gaunt and slow, dragging me unwilling out of my skin and into an ethereal realm of nowhere and nothingness. At times, when I found myself depressed, I thought Death would be thirsty for blood. With dramatic theatrics, it would slice me up and lead me onward into the unknown, cut and scarred. 
 
 But Death was—is—none of those things. Staring at it now, I see only power and immensity. Something that can not be qualified, quantified, or understood. It looms over me, neither a darkening sky nor a brightening sunrise. And in its immensity, in the indescribable power that it holds, it seeks out me. I am the apple of its eye, for however short a moment. And to be seen by it is to truly understand oneself, perhaps for the first time, as a being so brief.
