Contemplating the inevitable death of a relative is tough. It's been on my mind for the past few days and I can't shake it. Death is inevitable in itself, but when the sand in the hourglass has accelerated its fall due to a voracious cancer diagnosis, for many it becomes far scarier. I tried to take it in stride, but its unavoidability is still depressing. Even the Simpsons episode with Homer dying with a bucket list containing “make peace with dad” is not as distracting as it could be.

I keep reading about how others’ (esp. loved ones’) death reminds people of their own mortality and gets them to be afraid of their own death and I can’t say I’ve ever been afraid of death. I was confronted with death from an early age – two uncles (and not only) died young – and back then I did not care much about it (death). My attitude has changed in the meantime. I’m not where I thought I would be back when I was a kid. Sure, priorities changed, but still, I can’t help feeling I’m somewhat behind the curve, that my accomplishments are not anywhere near what I had envisioned, and dying early would make it impossible to ever shake the “could’ve been” tag. My own death would irreversibly mess up my plans, and that would suck, for I feel like I’m in the recovery phase. It would be like I just figured out a bunch of things (well, it took me quite a while to get it) and now, when I finally get to apply the theory, the end bell rings.

When a grandparent dies (and this has already happened to me 3 times) I’m first and foremost concerned with their disappointment. I seem to be less accomplished in virtually every category than my forebears. First, they had children by the time they had reached my age. I don’t and I’m nowhere near. Secondly (3rdly-6thly), they survived war, famines, communism and all sorts of weird childhood diseases. And these are only the general accomplishments – they each have quite a few individual ones as well. Old people are generally unhappy with their present and live in memories, but the soon-to-be-gone generation seems to really have some good reasons.

My paternal grandfather reached 90s while still reeling from the shock of an offspring dying before him. He never recuperated and died within a couple of years. It was quite obvious that he was on the way out: he had cataracts, could not distinguish his pills, relied on grandma who could not see it well either, there were a few mixups, he ended up in hospital with a pacemaker, and life was no longer fun. Yet he never gave up, he kept struggling until his very last minute. Before dying, he’d be pleading with me on the few times I was calling to marry, to finish that, to do this, to start there. As the years passed, his pleas became more and more desperate, but I never really listened.

Making peace with grandpa was particularly stressful for both of us. Our relationship had always been tense. He was a 50s style strongman, I was an 80s child who was taller than him. I was taller even at 8.

What’s numero uno on YOUR bucket list?

Sources / More info: huffpo-beforeidie