Death is Birth

The ankh, an ancient Egyptian hieroglyph for life. Photo by rosario janza on Unsplash.

As I visited Dave in the hospital, he struggled to breathe through his pneumonia. I held his hand as we spoke. He knew he wouldn’t be returning to his house; he’d be going home instead.

Cerebral palsy had kept Dave from walking or speaking clearly. He’d lived by himself and accepted help with things he couldn’t do alone. I’d visited him in his home often. He was perpetually happy. He made me want to be a better person.

I told Dave I loved him and kissed the top of his head as I left. He died a few days later. He had long looked forward to his rebirth and freedom from physical limitations.

Birth and death are two sides of the same coin. They are, in reality, the same thing viewed from opposite perspectives. Mortal birth is a spiritual death of sorts, an obscuring of spirit by a veil of flesh. And physical death is a spiritual rebirth, an unveiling of our eternal soul.

Our rejoicing at a child’s birth is a mere shadow of the rejoicing beyond the veil when someone is reborn through death and returns home. Our sorrow when someone dies is an echo of the premortal angst we felt when loved ones separated from us to embark on mortality. Death always precedes birth because death is what enables us to be reborn.

It’s been many years since Dave died. I still think of him and his death that was birth.