As a personal injury attorney, I’ve built a career standing beside people in their darkest moments. I’ve seen lives shattered in an instant — derailed by forces beyond their control. I’ve walked clients through grief, uncertainty, and the path toward rebuilding. Each case reminds me how swiftly everything can change. I’ve represented families mourning a loved one and individuals whose lives were transformed by sudden, irreversible injury. Their stories linger with me. They’ve taught me that life’s meaning isn’t rooted in predictability or perfection, but in resilience, connection, and compassion.
Helping my clients reclaim a sense of dignity, stability, and hope after trauma has deepened my respect for the strength of the human spirit. For me, legal victories matter, but they are only part of the equation. What matters just as much is holding space for and being present with people as they confront the raw truth of loss and begin to chart a new way forward.
Mortality as a Catalyst for Reflection
The arc of human life moves through transitions — from childhood to adulthood to elderhood. Along the way, we seek connection, purpose, and understanding. At some point, whether through personal experience or professional exposure, we are all confronted with the inescapable truth of our mortality.
Life often unfolds quickly, driven by routines that leave little room for introspection. But when a life-threatening event occurs — a serious illness, a near-fatal accident, or a moment of existential threat — time stops. These moments force us to ask questions we usually avoid: Why am I here? What really matters? What do I want to do with the time I have left?
Recently, I experienced events in my personal life that again reminded me how quickly everything can change. As I waited through long hours of uncertainty, I found myself staring down the same fragility I help my clients face. The anxiety was real, raw, and deeply unsettling. It wasn’t a legal problem to be solved; it was a human truth to be acknowledged.
The Legal Profession and Death
In the legal world, particularly in fields like personal injury, probate, and elder law, we encounter death regularly. Our professional training often leads us to compartmentalize.
We get clinical. We detach. The emotional distance serves a purpose — our clients need our clarity when they are overwhelmed.
However, we rarely give ourselves the space to process the emotional weight of what we witness. A widow navigating her first holiday alone. A parent balancing their own grief while comforting a child. A client quietly terrified that dementia will strip away their autonomy. Their fears echo our own, even if we rarely say it aloud.
Most of us would say we don’t think about death often. But beneath the surface, it’s always there shaping our choices. The question is not if death affects us but how, and that leads us to an important inquiry: Why do we fear death so much?
Understanding Death Anxiety
Psychologist Ernest Becker, in his seminal work “The Denial of Death,” argued that much of human behavior is driven by a deep, often unconscious fear of mortality. Known as “death anxiety,” this fear manifests in various ways — obsessions with youth, compulsive productivity, materialism, or existential despair.
As we age, this anxiety can intensify — not only because of physical decline, but because time itself becomes more finite. The shrinking horizon prompts reflection: What have I done with my life? What remains? Some cope by clinging to youth. Others channel fear into legacy. And some, like the musician Prince, transform anxiety into bold, joyful defiance. In his song “Let’s Go Crazy,” Prince opens with a eulogylike invocation: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.” I find these lyrics often echoing through my brain. Getting through this thing called life is a familiar mantra. Sometimes, getting through is all we can do, but when this becomes our norm, we are no longer thriving. We are simply surviving.
Coping Mechanisms: From Denial To Meaning
There is no single way to manage death anxiety. Some people cope through denial — avoiding conversations about aging or illness, staying perpetually busy, or fixating on surface-level pursuits. Our culture reinforces this with euphemisms like “passing away” and the idolization of youth.
Denial, however, only offers temporary relief. It prevents deeper reflection and can leave us unprepared for life’s inevitable losses. Grief, when faced honestly, can become fertile ground for change. I’ve seen clients find startling clarity in its aftermath.
This clarity came to me during recent events. It shattered the illusion of immunity. It was no longer something that just happened to other people. I could not deny it. It reminded me of Prince’s lyric: “We’re all excited, but we don’t know why. Maybe it’s ’cause we’re all gonna die.” However, instead of despair, Prince off ers an alternative: live now. “If de-elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy, punch a higher floor. … Are we going to let de-elevator bring us down? Oh no, let’s go.”
For many, religion offers solace. Belief in an afterlife, reincarnation, or divine reunion can ease the fear of death and provide a structure for living well. Spiritual worldviews often frame aging not as diminishment but as sacred evolution. They encourage people to reflect, forgive, and find peace. Those grounded in faith may experience aging with less resistance — seeing it as the ripening of the soul rather than the withering of the body.
For the secular or nonreligious, psychological frameworks like Viktor Frankl’s “logotherapy” offer an alternative. A Holocaust survivor, Frankl believed that life’s deepest suffering can be endured if we find meaning in it. “He who has a why to live for,” he wrote, quoting Nietzsche, “can bear with almost any how.”
I’ve seen this with my clients. They can’t undo their injuries or loss — but they can choose how they respond. This reclaiming of agency is powerful. It transforms victimhood into resilience. It reminds us that meaning evolves. In youth, we seek potential. In midlife, purpose. In old age, perspective and peace.
Another pathway is mindfulness — the practice of being fully present. When we anchor ourselves in the now, the fear of the future loses its grip. Each moment becomes more vivid, more precious.
Mindfulness reframes aging not as decline, but as deepening awareness. Breath work, meditation, and gratitude practices can center us in the reality of the present — where peace is found not in control but in acceptance. Prince captured this perspective when he sang: “Life is just a party, and parties weren’t meant to last.” The goal isn’t to mourn that the party ends — but to dance while it’s happening.
Choosing How We Live
There is no avoiding death. The question is: How do we want to live until then? How do we create purpose in the time we have? While we can’t control life’s external events, we can control how we respond to them.
Whether through faith, philosophy, creativity, or presence, we all have the power to face death — not with dread, but with intention. Living with death in mind can be a powerful motivator. It teaches us to cherish time, to connect more deeply, to love more fiercely, and to act with purpose.
Prince reminds us that life is short and sacred. Frankl reminds us that meaning gives life weight. My clients remind me every day that it’s not just legal outcomes that matter — but love, regret, forgiveness, and hope. These don’t show up on a balance sheet, but they are the essence of what makes us human.
So let us age not with anxiety but with defiance, grace, and laughter. Let’s go crazy — not to escape death, but to honor life. We are gathered here today not just to get through this thing called life — but to live it with purpose, presence, and passion.
————————
Sarah E. Kuchon, of Hohauser Kuchon, is the 93rd president of the Oakland County Bar Association.
Helping my clients reclaim a sense of dignity, stability, and hope after trauma has deepened my respect for the strength of the human spirit. For me, legal victories matter, but they are only part of the equation. What matters just as much is holding space for and being present with people as they confront the raw truth of loss and begin to chart a new way forward.
Mortality as a Catalyst for Reflection
The arc of human life moves through transitions — from childhood to adulthood to elderhood. Along the way, we seek connection, purpose, and understanding. At some point, whether through personal experience or professional exposure, we are all confronted with the inescapable truth of our mortality.
Life often unfolds quickly, driven by routines that leave little room for introspection. But when a life-threatening event occurs — a serious illness, a near-fatal accident, or a moment of existential threat — time stops. These moments force us to ask questions we usually avoid: Why am I here? What really matters? What do I want to do with the time I have left?
Recently, I experienced events in my personal life that again reminded me how quickly everything can change. As I waited through long hours of uncertainty, I found myself staring down the same fragility I help my clients face. The anxiety was real, raw, and deeply unsettling. It wasn’t a legal problem to be solved; it was a human truth to be acknowledged.
The Legal Profession and Death
In the legal world, particularly in fields like personal injury, probate, and elder law, we encounter death regularly. Our professional training often leads us to compartmentalize.
We get clinical. We detach. The emotional distance serves a purpose — our clients need our clarity when they are overwhelmed.
However, we rarely give ourselves the space to process the emotional weight of what we witness. A widow navigating her first holiday alone. A parent balancing their own grief while comforting a child. A client quietly terrified that dementia will strip away their autonomy. Their fears echo our own, even if we rarely say it aloud.
Most of us would say we don’t think about death often. But beneath the surface, it’s always there shaping our choices. The question is not if death affects us but how, and that leads us to an important inquiry: Why do we fear death so much?
Understanding Death Anxiety
Psychologist Ernest Becker, in his seminal work “The Denial of Death,” argued that much of human behavior is driven by a deep, often unconscious fear of mortality. Known as “death anxiety,” this fear manifests in various ways — obsessions with youth, compulsive productivity, materialism, or existential despair.
As we age, this anxiety can intensify — not only because of physical decline, but because time itself becomes more finite. The shrinking horizon prompts reflection: What have I done with my life? What remains? Some cope by clinging to youth. Others channel fear into legacy. And some, like the musician Prince, transform anxiety into bold, joyful defiance. In his song “Let’s Go Crazy,” Prince opens with a eulogylike invocation: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to get through this thing called life.” I find these lyrics often echoing through my brain. Getting through this thing called life is a familiar mantra. Sometimes, getting through is all we can do, but when this becomes our norm, we are no longer thriving. We are simply surviving.
Coping Mechanisms: From Denial To Meaning
There is no single way to manage death anxiety. Some people cope through denial — avoiding conversations about aging or illness, staying perpetually busy, or fixating on surface-level pursuits. Our culture reinforces this with euphemisms like “passing away” and the idolization of youth.
Denial, however, only offers temporary relief. It prevents deeper reflection and can leave us unprepared for life’s inevitable losses. Grief, when faced honestly, can become fertile ground for change. I’ve seen clients find startling clarity in its aftermath.
This clarity came to me during recent events. It shattered the illusion of immunity. It was no longer something that just happened to other people. I could not deny it. It reminded me of Prince’s lyric: “We’re all excited, but we don’t know why. Maybe it’s ’cause we’re all gonna die.” However, instead of despair, Prince off ers an alternative: live now. “If de-elevator tries to bring you down, go crazy, punch a higher floor. … Are we going to let de-elevator bring us down? Oh no, let’s go.”
For many, religion offers solace. Belief in an afterlife, reincarnation, or divine reunion can ease the fear of death and provide a structure for living well. Spiritual worldviews often frame aging not as diminishment but as sacred evolution. They encourage people to reflect, forgive, and find peace. Those grounded in faith may experience aging with less resistance — seeing it as the ripening of the soul rather than the withering of the body.
For the secular or nonreligious, psychological frameworks like Viktor Frankl’s “logotherapy” offer an alternative. A Holocaust survivor, Frankl believed that life’s deepest suffering can be endured if we find meaning in it. “He who has a why to live for,” he wrote, quoting Nietzsche, “can bear with almost any how.”
I’ve seen this with my clients. They can’t undo their injuries or loss — but they can choose how they respond. This reclaiming of agency is powerful. It transforms victimhood into resilience. It reminds us that meaning evolves. In youth, we seek potential. In midlife, purpose. In old age, perspective and peace.
Another pathway is mindfulness — the practice of being fully present. When we anchor ourselves in the now, the fear of the future loses its grip. Each moment becomes more vivid, more precious.
Mindfulness reframes aging not as decline, but as deepening awareness. Breath work, meditation, and gratitude practices can center us in the reality of the present — where peace is found not in control but in acceptance. Prince captured this perspective when he sang: “Life is just a party, and parties weren’t meant to last.” The goal isn’t to mourn that the party ends — but to dance while it’s happening.
Choosing How We Live
There is no avoiding death. The question is: How do we want to live until then? How do we create purpose in the time we have? While we can’t control life’s external events, we can control how we respond to them.
Whether through faith, philosophy, creativity, or presence, we all have the power to face death — not with dread, but with intention. Living with death in mind can be a powerful motivator. It teaches us to cherish time, to connect more deeply, to love more fiercely, and to act with purpose.
Prince reminds us that life is short and sacred. Frankl reminds us that meaning gives life weight. My clients remind me every day that it’s not just legal outcomes that matter — but love, regret, forgiveness, and hope. These don’t show up on a balance sheet, but they are the essence of what makes us human.
So let us age not with anxiety but with defiance, grace, and laughter. Let’s go crazy — not to escape death, but to honor life. We are gathered here today not just to get through this thing called life — but to live it with purpose, presence, and passion.
————————
Sarah E. Kuchon, of Hohauser Kuchon, is the 93rd president of the Oakland County Bar Association.
