Do you know the difference between caskets and coffins? I learned of their distinguishing traits about a year ago, along with other things like embalming, what you should and shouldn’t say to a mourner, and how to approach the topic of death in a healthy way. I have taught myself not to fear Death’s aching feet as he sweeps slowly over the horizon; but just over 365 days ago, I would have stopped our conversation if you asked me what I just asked you.

I was so terrified of the idea that I would be laid inside of a human-shaped box (with no air holes or writing utensils, mind you) that I forgot that my panic room was a human… shaped… box…

Yes, I would sneak away into a little box all inside my head, small and dark, and quiet. Often, I would imagine myself with all of my favourite sentimental objects. Looking back, this tiny pocket of safety was more casket-like than coffin. The difference lies mainly in shape nowadays, with caskets consisting of four sides, and coffins having six. Caskets, though seen most often in funerals here in America, are spotted less than coffins in film, literature, and cartoons. Now, you can say you know the difference between a casket and a coffin, too.

Coming back to my narrative, I must note that it was silly of me to think that I could evade the ever-present stare of Death by laying there, in my bed or on my couch, pretending that I wasn’t making my life any better or any more memorable. At the time, though, it was a comfort to my anxiety. Figuratively running away fueled my belief that I could literally outrun mortality, or at least ignore it for as long as possible, until I tired and it caught up to me. I shuddered thinking about the slow, shambling nature of his gait, and how I would never be able to escape my organic, inner clock that determined my speed. 

Sure, it’s natural to be afraid of death, to feel the urgency to impact more than just your own life, but I was terrified. The thought of my bones (which, thankfully, are currently surrounded by living tissue) tucked away in the folds of the Earth with no one to care for them was too much for me to think about. So I didn’t. I ignored the topic of decomposition and death at all costs.

That is, until I ran so far away that I had circled back around and found myself breathing down his neck. I had been chasing after an impossible goal, and it led me back to the loop of terror and insanity.

Time stood still, I thought, shakily tiptoeing backwards. But Death turned around and observed me as I danced closer and closer, sometimes smelling the decay that lingered about his body. I never touched him, never got close enough to truly comprehend the iciness of his cloak, or to realize that he was not searching for me, merely waiting for me to decide for myself. Whether I ran back to my spot in his retrieval line, or butt in front of the old, the sick, and the buried, he would collect me at one point or another.

It was a sobering experience, facing him constantly for four years. But I have learned not to fear death, and not to rush it. I have found balance between rushing to him, and hiding from him. I have learned the phrase “Memento Mori” is not something to fear, worry over, or rush to get it over with. “Remember you must die.” The Latin phrase means more than just “think about death and how inevitable it is”. Some may view it as morbid, scary, or foolish to have in mind at all times. But it inspires me. I must remember that I will die, so I remember that life was made to live in all of its horrible, beautiful, and short glory.

I believe in addressing the difference between caskets and coffins. I believe in talking about death with your children, explaining how they will pass on, so they should aspire towards dreams that will live on long after their bodies have fed the beckoning Earth. I believe in wasted days that aren’t a waste at all. I believe in Memento Mori.