Talking about death without fear
At 38, a financial journalist confronted his own mortality in a way he never had before. The realization didn’t come from a doctor’s visit or a near-miss accident. It arrived through an Instagram post.
The post that rewired his brain
The message was straightforward: every passing second brings us closer to death. Though not a new concept, it struck him differently this time. He couldn’t ignore it. Sleepless nights followed, his heart racing. A weekend trip to Bath, intended to be relaxing, turned into an existential review of his life. The blue sky, the river, his children’s smiles—he became fixated on the fact that one day, he wouldn’t experience any of it.
He broke down crying to his fiancée. The fear wasn’t abstract. It was overwhelming and immediate. It also forced a practical question he’d avoided: What happens after he dies?
Death as an act of care
He hadn’t written a will, despite having a partner and two children. His pension was disorganized. Then, almost comically, an email arrived about end-of-life planning. The timing felt like either perfect coincidence or a cruel joke.
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The email came from Bill Villanova, president of Frank E Campbell, a firm assisting families with grief and logistics after a loss. Villanova’s message framed planning not as a grim task but as an act of responsibility—something more people, especially younger adults, now recognize. The journalist, despite his discomfort, found unexpected relief in that idea. He wasn’t the only one grappling with these fears.
For financial advisers, these discussions can be difficult. Clients often resist, and the subject carries a heavy emotional load. Yet the journalist’s experience suggests that avoidance may be riskier. Talking about death, unsettling as it is, can help people focus on what truly matters.
His panic attacks have lessened, though the change in perspective remains. The things that once stressed him—work deadlines, minor frustrations—now feel insignificant. What stays with him is gratitude: for his loved ones, for the quiet beauty of an ordinary morning. And, reluctantly, for the push to finally organize his affairs.
He still wakes some nights, heart pounding. But now, when he does, he reaches for his fiancée’s hand instead of his phone.
