Like most people I have trouble with mortality. Frankly the objectivism and untimeliness just makes me angry.
Do you remember the first time you were able to conceptualize death as a child? I do and even then my analytical brain refused to take its definition at face value. And I remember my mom explained Heaven to me as everything pretty and nothing I didn't like. My dad and I tended a rose garden at the time and I imagined a heaven where bees didn't exist to bother my flowers and my roses had no thorns. My mom told me I would have that and more.
But I hated not knowing what comes next. The not having something finite or tangible to grasp onto. Faith is supposed to compensate for this lacking but what if one does not know what to have faith in to begin with? What if having faith in faith will never be enough?
So I choose not to think about it lest I fall into cyclical phases of nihilism where getting out of my bed never seems worth anything.
Finding the answers to these mysteries will always seem fruitless to me but that's where I am right now and I'm really struggling to understand any of it.