HOW LONG HAVE I GOT LEFT?

In the quiet recesses of the human mind lies an unshakable truth: death is inevitable. Inspired by the late Paul Kalanithi’s memoir, When Breath Becomes Air.

Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash

Barely 36 hours after concluding my uncle’s burial—a ceremony filled not with tears of sorrow but with tears celebrating a life well lived—my grandmother (his mother) died in her sleep. It was a rather cold Sunday morning when my grandmother's caregiver, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, knocked at my door, asking me to check on her. I could see the caregiver's struggle to fight back tears, staring away and avoiding eye contact with me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Just go check on her.”

Deep down, I knew my grandma’s battle with cancer was over. She had found peace. Yet, I held onto a thin thread of hope that this would be just another day of offering comfort, perhaps urging my grandmother to eat something before her medications.

As I entered her house, I could hear my heart pounding. The room was cold and silent. Calling her name, there was no reply. I knocked on her bedroom door before ushering myself in. There she was, her eyes wide open, lying still on her back; my heart sank at the sight before me. I walked toward her and called her name again; still, she did not respond.

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During my six years of medical training, I experienced the loss of patients to various illnesses, both young and old. Perhaps medical school had hardened me. As Paul wrote in his book, “When Breath Becomes Air,” he found other authors' writings resonating with him, particularly Nabokov’s observation on how “our suffering can make us callous to the obvious suffering of another.” I had participated in multiple resuscitations and watched the doctor call the time of death. Still, none of those experiences felt as profound as this moment, standing there, glued to the ground, gazing into my grandma's wide, lifeless eyes 36 hours after my uncle’s burial.

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Only three weeks earlier, my uncle had been hospitalized due to complications from diabetes. His foot was scheduled for a second surgery—an amputation below his knee—because of poor recovery from an above-the-ankle amputation resulting from diabetic foot ulcers that had consumed most of his big toe and heel. Fast forward to seven days later, on the eve of his discharge date following the second surgery, he developed complications that would ultimately lead to his demise.

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A Stoic’s Perspective on Mortality

The reality is that a similar sword hangs over each of us: death is inevitable. We have an irrational fear of acknowledging our mortality, as we find the unknown frightening. We often speak of our death as though it is years away. When we wake up in the morning, no one considers that day might be their last. But death does not lurk in some distant, shadowed future; it is ever-present, woven into the fabric of time. Every sunrise is a reminder that we have the power to live our best lives right now.

This reflection is not meant to scare us or throw us into chaos. Accepting that mortality is a natural part of life grants us clarity. We stop postponing the things we want to do and instead take action. Seneca would assert, “Prepare your mind as if you have come to the end of life. Let us postpone nothing. The one who puts the finishing touches on their life each day is never short of time.”

One of the most famous Stoic quotes on death is from Marcus Aurelius: "You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think." This serves as a reminder to avoid wasting time on trivial matters or becoming consumed by fear or anxiety. Instead, we should focus on what is truly important and maximize our time.

Accepting mortality is fundamental to embracing the present moment and focusing on the here and now. We learn to appreciate the beauty of life despite its fleeting nature. We are freed from procrastination, pettiness, and trivial distractions. Each moment becomes a gift—a space for virtue to flourish. Consequently, we make the most of our time and lead more fulfilling lives.

While death remains beyond our control, we should concentrate on living a virtuous life characterized by wisdom, justice, courage, and temperance, for that is the only thing within our power. We ought to cast aside trivial matters and approach each day with gratitude and courage. By practicing this, we uphold the dichotomy of control, distinguishing what is within our control from what is not, enabling us to live in accordance with nature and find meaning in life.

Memento mori—remember that you must die.

Source for this article : The Daily Stoic by Ryan Holiday and Stephen Hanselman