A

t one point in my life, I wished to die.

It was not because I was not happy with my life nor that I felt suicidal; it was just that a younger version of me thought that dying at a young age was awesome.

In my early 20s, I admired those young souls who had gone too soon, thus immortalizing themselves with their untimely departure.

I even aspired to join the 27 Club, of which Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain and, some believe, Jesus are honorary members.

Death did not cause fear in me because I was taught not to fear death.

Once a rock star-wannabe, I was also a devout Christian, who was taught that death was only temporary because we would also join God in paradise. Knowing that good prospect, I did not fear death.

But then came marriage and parenthood, and they changed my perception.

US comedian Louis CK once joked, “Parents can’t die, single people can” and I second that. Being a mother of two wonderful children, I have so many reasons to stay alive for as long as I can. I guess I am not so cool anymore about death as it has become my ultimate fear and I do my best to stay away from it.

But in recent years, a number of people close to me died: my friend’s father, my aunt, my uncle, my grandmother and my colleague.

Suddenly, death is everywhere and inevitable. This fact strikes me hard as I have to also deal with the real pain of losing and grieving.

I still cannot get rid of my grief over my grandma’s passing in 2013. I feel guilty for not being around during her last days and it leaves me in pieces, remembering that I had to watch her funeral live via Skype because I was on a different continent.

Recently, my family had to deal with another loss. After struggling with cancer for almost a year, my father-in-law succumbed to the disease. My family, especially my husband, was in deep grief. A loving, kind-hearted and compassionate figure, my father in-law was also probably the coolest dad I have ever known. He was a man who was capable of turning his hand to anything, from computers, car engines to child rearing and sewing, a talent that that he passed down to his son, my husband.

One thing that I can learn from this loss is how to see the bright side of death. My husband always assures everyone that his father is in a better place right now, pain-free and probably happy. Despite my growing skepticism toward religion, I really want to believe that it is true. Standing at his funeral, I kept telling myself that it was the best for him and the whole family, but I just cried and cried.

Funerals have never been my cup of tea. I still suck at them.

Every time I attend a funeral, I am always confused on what to do and say. Even after so many deaths, I still haven’t got the hang of it. My best line will always be “my deepest condolences” and nothing much else.

This awkwardness is quite ironic for a woman who wished to die early.

I should learn from my own dad who manages to sport his deadpan expression when attending funerals.

“Everyone is going to die anyway, your father and mother will eventually die and you just have to get used to it,” he said, explaining his cool act.

But how do you numb yourselves against death and that pain of losing? Will binge-watching Game of Thrones, with its parade of continuously unexpected deaths, help me?

Who would have thought that my consolation came from an unexpected source: my 5-year-old daughter. I just discovered that talking about death with children is kind of therapeutic and enlightening.

She asked so many things when her grandfather died and I did my best to answer them. I told her what my husband told to everyone with a bit of improvisation here and there. It turned out that in the process of giving her the answers, I was encouraged to not only see the bright side of death, but also believe in it.  — Ika Krismantari