Life is Death
Without death, life drifts.
I lost one of my best friends this past December.
On the night of the 19th, he had a heart attack, and that was it.
He was 49 years old.
A beautiful man. A good-hearted human being. Someone who walked this earth in service to others, spreading kindness without asking for recognition. He didn’t drink. He didn’t party. He didn’t live recklessly. He was simply living his life, trying to do right by the people around him.
And just like that, he was gone.
His family, his wife, his parents, his sister, were left with no explanation except one: a hereditary heart condition. The same kind I have. In a time of extraordinary medical advancement, losing someone at 49 feels almost impossible to accept.
It feels wrong.
Unfinished.
I have asked myself too many questions since his death, most of them unanswered. And yet, strangely, I have never felt more alive.
That is why this piece is called Life Is Death.
The pain of losing him is real and heavy. But his absence has shaken me awake in a way nothing else ev…
