Recent text exchange with a good friend:

Me: Surprised I’m so teary over Brian Wilson’s death. I’m really struggling over this. Maybe because it’s a bellwether of what’s to come for us. Did you have a reaction?

P: Yes, it made me sad. We’re losing our icons, Carol.

Me: I know…it means we aren’t far behind.

P: I don’t want to be the last one standing…just saying.

This death of the most gifted musical mind of our era hit me harder than I expected.

So many moments, often unannounced, when mortality taps gently on our shoulder. Those moments are coming more often, these days.

The first tap was the year I spent visiting my mother in her hospital room. That one sent me on my journey to figure out for myself “what comes next.” But then a close friend died. And another. A third. And now, Brain Wilson, who created the soundtrack to some of the best years of my young life.

When mortality taps us on the shoulder

So what do we do when mortality sends us these reminders? We pause. We remember. We realize — our time here is not endless.

Coming to terms with that truth is no small feat. In fact, for many of us, it can feel like wrestling with something too large, too heavy, too final to fully grasp. The mind resists it. The heart rebels. And who could blame us?

We live in a culture that tells us to avoid death at all costs — to distract ourselves, stay busy, remain forever “young.” We’re encouraged to deny the inevitable, to soften it with euphemisms or push it far into the future where it can’t reach us. But sooner or later, death becomes real — through loss, through illness, or simply through aging — and we are left to face it.

So what do we do?

The process of accepting mortality is complex, layered with fear, sadness, and even guilt. We wonder if we’ve done enough, loved enough, mattered enough. We don’t want to miss what happens next here on earth. (or maybe we do…hello, fascism-in-waiting.)

We fear not just the end, but the unknown. And yet, as uncomfortable as these thoughts may be, they can also open a door.

Mortality invites us to live more intentionally. To treasure the mundane moments — sunlight through the curtains, a familiar voice on the phone, a shared laugh. To stop delaying the things that truly matter.

Coming to terms with death doesn’t mean we stop fearing it altogether. It means we learn to live with that fear and still choose to live fully. It means letting mortality remind us that every single day is a gift — not in a trite or sentimental way, but in a deeply grounded, soul-level truth.

And that’s not easy.

It’s complicated

It may take time. It may come in waves. One day you feel accepting, the next you’re grieving again, clinging to what was or what could have been. That, too, is part of the process. There is no “right” way to come to terms with our mortality — only the way that is true for you.

But the more we can talk about it — gently, openly, with compassion — the more we soften its sharp edges. And in doing so, we make space for deeper living, for more honest connection, and for peace.

Because we’re here now. And that, in itself, is a miracle worth cherishing.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

What do you tell yourself?