For a woman whose love language is words of affirmation, I become uncharacteristically speechless when it comes to death. I’m silent, and maybe that’s deadlier than the mourning process because silence can last longer than the short, agonizing second of death.

I do not have wise words about death. I do not even think that the words I could conjure up in a moment would do justice for those who have passed. I can really only tell you that death itself is inevitable, and at some point, you will have to pay the bill of life and take the plunge. I grew up in a church where the congregation was at peace with their fate, but as a little girl in the pews, I just wasn’t. And as I grow older, I don’t fear it, necessarily, but I just hold an indifference to and an acceptance of the things that I cannot change.

You cannot change the final destination of life, but you can control the course you take to get there.

Plain and simple: I do not like talking about death.

But then again, who does? Not many people. It’s a touchy subject. However, the touchiest subjects to talk about are the ones that need to be talked about.

Obviously, no one is a number one fan of death. I do not think that a mother should have to lose her son. Nor do I think that a friend should lose another; likewise a lover, a lover.

Death is unfair.

It has no feelings, nor does it have a regard for yours --or mine! It isn’t a friendly idea to wrap your mind around, and it’s a time that breaks our hearts into little pieces that we don’t know if we can piece back together again. It leaves without a goodbye or an apology. I think, if anything, our hardest times teach us lessons that are essential for us to move forward.

Sometimes, learning to move forward is the hardest lesson in itself.

What if you never move forward? You should never force yourself to take steps you are not ready for, but you should challenge yourself when you have regained the strength to get up again. You can mourn for years; you are allowed to, you are in pain.

And that’s okay.

As for lesson number two: Death teaches us to celebrate life.

Both life as we know it, and life as we knew it. It blesses us with nostalgia and reminds us how fragile we all really are.

When you’re 16, 17, 18, whatever, you think you’re invincible. You’re on a high of life because you’re young, nothing can touch you, etc, etc. But you’re still just as mortal as the rest of us.

If the after-effects of death have left you alone, on the ground, and gasping for air, take the first breath that you can, and hold onto it.

Make a wish or say a prayer,