I hope you've noticed that a number of people came forward to relate a similar perspective on death.
I really respect your decision to bow out of the emotionally charged conflict in the thread.
...However, I am not inclined to be so wise. If you're reading this, please try to understand my position even if you feel affronted by it; bare in mind also that there is some of my own emotion in this and I recognize I'm venting a bit.
For some people, emotions are a very public thing. They are shared with anyone and everyone nearby.
For some people, they are a quiet, contemplative thing. They are felt and shared only with those close to them.
What happens in public settings is that people that feel quietly are shunted out. They aren't heard, they don't express themselves because, by their nature, they don't have to.
Attachment to death seems immature to me. It seems like we have to trumpet again how awful death is, say the things that everyone knows.
Because that's the other thing about emotionally loud people: they have to make sure everyone's feeling the same things, that we're all on the same page.
virtualwhys experience with a close friend's suicide was criticized: he was told he was __grieving wrong__. The appalling rudeness of this is overlooked because virtualwhys, a quiet person, emotionally, stepped out rather than continue to feel like he was stepping on other people's emotions. Quietly emotional people respect other peoples' feelings.
Meanwhile, a lot of _other_ people are quietly relating their own grief in similar terms as virtualwhys.
Look, death is an experience. You can't change it. Even if we cure everything someday, that won't change the fact that we've lived and died. Wringing your hands about death is only additional suffering.
Because that's the beautiful thing about accepting death: you can make it more about life than loss. It is an experience of the vital things, the core things, the deep bonds and strong connections.
Aaron will die, with his family around him, still looking to the future and full of life. That is very profoundly beautiful. It is a gift. More to the point, it just _is_. It cannot be changed, but it can be appreciated.
Here's where I fall on virtualwhys side: to me, any other understanding of grief seems to be pretending you could possibly have control. Death forces us to see that we have no control--and when that is pointed out, _some_ of us can't handle it.
Yeah, that last part is a bit rude, and I apologize... somewhat.