I woke up this morning afraid. It occurred to me that I will die anytime, not at my own time. I closed my eyes and imagined myself in a coffin being lowered by undertakers and sand being poured atop my casket. I'm being disposed of lest I constitute a health hazard to the living. I couldn't bear it. Is that what the dead go through? I quickly checked my assets, my houses, four cars, and cash at hand; who will spend or own them when I am dead? What about my beautiful wife? I can't imagine her in romance with another man; the man who would now be called "daddy", my title, by my lovely children. Will it be Afam, Okey, Romeo, Chinedu or a man I have never met? Never! I must not die! But the entire generation of my dad has gone, a pointer that my death is as certain as the uncertainty of the date. Chineke moo! How can I leave all these fruits of labour I have tenuously acquired! Mbanu! I pondered on going to worship today in a church that promises its congregation a protection from untimely death. I narrowed my choice to one but, the founder just died of heart attack. He was 56. I'm 45. I became more confused when I also realized that my age mates have started dying naturally. The cases Stephen Nkeki and Emeka Udeze are running riot in my head. Most of the powerful native doctors in my village have succumbed to death too, a proof that nobody is exempted. The overly religious should also know that Jesus was crucified at 33 and Prophet Mohammed was reportedly poisoned and died at 60. They too have exited this planet. If notable Imams, Men of God and native doctors have succumbed to this inevitable called death, it is charlatanic for anybody to peddle any protection against death. It is now clear to me that I will also die. Therefore, I will as from today live as if I will soon die. I will strive to detach myself from all that will make me grieve in my casket, the only house I hope to have if I die during peace time as no one is assured of a decent burial during war time. Imagine me being addressed as Late Anayo Matthew Nwosu? This is a real torture for a soul that is transfixed on the mundane. What about you, my dear reader? Have you given a thought about the "when" and "how" about your own death? Please do.