I had a hunch that I had heard of it somewhere - “The Deathbed Experiment”. Confused between Covey’s “Begin with the End in Mind” and Robin Sharma’s “Who Will Cry When You Die,” I set out searching for the “Deathbed Experiment”. My search led me through things like “Legacy thinking,”“Mortality Reflection,” and the “Eulogy Exercise”. And it went a little deeper, the more abstract ones, like “Memento Mori Practice”, “Terror Management Theory Experiments”, “Thanatotherapy,” and “End-of-Life Journaling Exercise”.
No, I wasn’t looking for those. The idea itself was simple: imagining how people would cope with your death. Well, the name didn’t matter to start my own experiment. Here is how I progressed.
I’ll skip over friends, as I believe that each one of them would fall into one of the categories that follow.
Let me begin with the easiest group - my neighbours. Their response would be straightforward - they would simply find out that I used to live there. Nothing more, nothing less.
Now, let me imagine my colleagues. For most, my death would simply be a piece of news. A few might be deeply saddened for the next few days. And a few others might mention me in a conversation whenever they get an opportunity. Of course, it would feel more like a person who moved to a different company than someone who passed away. Given the nature of workplace dynamics, I doubt anyone would stay worried for long, in fact, they are likely to move on the very next day.
How different would my relatives be from colleagues? Strangely, despite spending every day with colleagues and almost no time with relatives, I strongly believe their reactions might not be much different. Apart from a few close members, I haven’t spent time with most relatives. Physical distance often creates emotional detachment, and so, for many, the impact would likely be minimal.
Now I am getting closer to the emotional side. Let me think about home minus my parents. No wonder, they would truly feel the loss. My absence would hurt them deeply. Every corner of the house, every thing and every moment would carry reminders of me, reopening their wounds repeatedly. Anyway, they would eventually adapt to the reality, however painful it might be. Perhaps they would conduct death anniversaries for as long as they could.
And then comes the hardest of all. My parents. Though the way they express might differ, my mum and dad would feel the same depth of their loss. I know their pain would be profound and enduring. Even imagining their state wells up tears in my eyes. I often tell my friends that my only prayer is to live longer than my parents. I don’t really know how they would endure my loss. Of course, with my siblings around, they would live, but the void would remain.
Who else? I thought I had completed the experiment. I felt a sense of accomplishment, very much like carefully building a pyramid of cards, layer by layer, requiring ultra focus and precision. Oh, how does it feel when the pyramid collapses entirely when you try to place the last one? Yeah, I got one last thing to place, and it fell apart in a jiffy, with no time to think further. What would Hansie, my pet dog, do? The time it took for me to refuse to think further could help to measure the smallest possible unit of time. I simply stopped and abandoned the experiment. I could imagine Hansie waiting by the door, his tail wagging in futile hope, his eyes scanning the room for me. How long? The very thought shattered me. That moment made me feel like yelling that the real love is something where there is no plan B.
Reflecting on one's mortality is a deeply introspective journey. As I progressed through this experiment, I found clarity and acceptance (yeah, yet another fake statement). It is a human limitation that the bonds so pure and unconditional defy intellectualisation. It is impossible to imagine the world without us in it, through the eyes of our loved ones. In the end, a happy departure, trusting that the love and memories we leave behind will guide others long after we are gone, might take our soul to heaven. True living is not about preparing others for our absence - it is about being fully present while we’re here, especially because we don’t even know that THE date. Or maybe, I am wrong.
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