Why do people die?

I’m thankful I don’t have to answer that question to my own child yet.  But someday…  What will I say?
We have come upon the anniversary of the death of a friend of my father’s (I’m not going to address 9/11 in this post).  She wasn’t very old, might have been in her early fifties.  She was married and took care of her grandson.  How hard it must have been to explain it all to him, I think he was around five.  How do we explain this to our kids?  To ourselves?  How do we “justify” why we should not be afraid of death?
My first experience?  Well, with a human death, my great-grandmother died when I was eight.  We were not brought to the funeral.  I can’t say that I remember her well.  I know that we went to her house in Napa, CA for years for Easter.  I can remember certain things about the house, the yard.  I know what she looked like.  But somewhere along the years things get muddled and you have to wonder if what you’re remembering is an actual memory or the memory of a photograph.  I remember my dad cried.  That I remember and there is no picture of that.
Oh, wait!  The things memories trigger…  My mother’s grandmother died a few years before that.  I never met that great-grandmother, but my mom said she always sent pictures of us to her grandmother on the East Coast.  I remember my mom being very upset, crying on the phone.  But that experience didn’t register for quite some time.  It took a while to figure out what had happened and who it was.  I felt sad for my mother, but I don’t remember feeling much else.  Not sure if I was just a cold-hearted kid or simply because I had never met the woman.  Either way, I actually knew my dad’s grandmother, and I knew when they left for the funeral where they were going.  I know I was sad.  I don’t remember if or how it was explained to us kids.
Death, in my experience tends to be explained away with religious explanations.  This worked for us because we had gone to church and knew what God was (is) and in the grand scheme of things it just worked.  The puzzle pieces kind of slid together.
But what happens when you explain it to someone that doesn’t know religion?  I have a nephew that (I think) may have been to church a few times, but really is not brought up much on a religion.  I think he was four when his great-grandfather died, and five when the family cat died.  I didn’t know his great-grandfather, but the cat…  The cat had come into our family when I was in High School.  A drop-off at the local vet with no one to cover the bill after he was hit by a car.  He was brought home and lived with my dad for years.  The cat developed diabetes, and I learned to give him shots of insulin.  Not that I cared for the cat by myself, I simply helped out when needed.  Still, it’s a different kind of relationship with an animal when you have to give him two shots of medicine a day that are injected under the skin.  In the end I asked to be there when he was put to sleep.  He was a good cat.  So then, to talk to my nephew about the cat, do I tell him Mr. Magoo went to heaven?  Does he know what heaven and God are?  He seemed to understand.
Obviously as we get older we have to deal with death more often.  Three of my biological grandparents have died in my lifetime, two step-grandparents.  My husband has lost two uncles, an aunt and a grandmother while we have been together.  My previous step-mom lost an uncle much too soon.  Pets have come and gone.  Friends have lost their lives too quickly.  And sadly even some babies have been lost before we were lucky enough to meet them.  So where do we go in our heads with all this?  I’d like to think I’m not afraid of death.  That is what I will continue to tell myself until I can’t tell myself anything.  I don’t want to be afraid of death.  Don’t people say it’s simply a part of life?
When I’m asked why people die, I will say that everyone is given a certain amount of time on Earth, and no one is given the same amount of time.  Every day that we live, we should live.  You don’t have to live like you are going to die.  I know that is a common theme.  To live as if the next moment could be your last.  Sure it could.  But I have lived, for a time, expecting that I wouldn’t live much longer, just dumb teenage stuff.  I don’t want to live as if I don’t have a tomorrow.  I want to live as if today is simply the best day to live.  To breath, to eat, to read, to play.  Sure, we’ll throw some work and chores in for good measure!  I saw a movie once, I think it was called Dad, and there was a line that stuck with me.  The dad said “Dying isn’t a sin.  Not living is.”  I don’t plan on looking forward to death, I know it’s coming.  It’s that one-way ticket you have in your pocket with an open-ended date of departure.  Of all the things I need to control in my life, I accept that death is not within my control, not mine or anyone else’s.
So what now?  I will continue to live and send love to those that have to deal with death.  I will get up every morning and be thankful for each breath I take.  I will explain death, in my own way, when the time comes.
And I will live.