When I was a little girl, I lived in my grandparents’ home, alongside my father and brother. Because of this, I was privy to a lot of early life lessons, particularly related to death.

I would sometimes hear my grandparents gripe about old age, doctors’ appointments and sicknesses, and they would often call friends and relatives to offer condolences upon hearing that someone had died. It seemed like they were constantly going to funerals, but they always spoke about it matter-of-factly. One afternoon, my grandfather looked at me and said, “Mija, we are all going to die one day. No one makes it out of here alive; it’s the only way we can get to heaven.”

As a 7-year-old, I was horrified — but as the years went on, I too began to look at death as a stepping-stone. It wasn’t necessarily a scary end, but a beginning. I kept that lesson near my heart all these years, because, as I look back, my grandpa did me an incredible service.

My grandparents, good and humble people, lived memento mori (“remember your death” in Latin). They would go to daily Mass and weekly confession, and pray daily Rosaries and novenas. Before any vacation, they looked up the schedule of the Catholic church nearest to their destination. They didn't tolerate any funny business — not when it came to their faith. Though my grandmother has now passed on, my grandfather remains the same: full of life, with eyes on the next life.

Dying is not to be glorified, but dying in Christ is not to be feared. As Catholics, we should understand this the most.

We want heaven, but we don’t want that walk to Calvary. Can you blame us, though? No one wants to be sick or see their loved ones in pain. Interestingly enough, when we suffer on earth, we often cling to the hope of heaven. But what’s the point if we disregard the steps we must take to get there?

Death is promised; eternal life for us is not. It is true: The Lord has a place for us at his heavenly banquet. But will we make it to the reservation?

He offers us an eternity with him — but are we making adequate preparations?

Some may cavalierly joke about purgatory as a funny idea “those Catholics” have, but don’t be fooled. It’s not a made-up place, and it isn’t a serene waiting room. In St. Faustina’s diary, she recounts her vision of purgatory, referring to it as “a prison of suffering where souls are longing to be with God.” Upon witnessing this reality, she heard an interior voice say, “My mercy does not want this, but my justice demands it” (Diary, 20). It purifies our soul, but the reality of such a place is not to be dismissed.

But we don’t have to live in constant fear — we just need to live with an understanding of truth and in a state of grace so that our souls are ready. We may not get a heads-up, a notice from a doctor that we are gravely ill. We may not make it to old age, where we can be satisfied with a life well lived. We don’t know the day or hour.

Because of my grandparents, I had many friends who were 60-plus years my senior. I’ve seen their caskets close, with one last drop of holy water sprinkled upon them.

For many, their funerals were marked as joyous because they were well prepared, even if their deaths came as a surprise. Despite it all, they knew their loved ones would be fervently praying for their souls.

It can be that way for you, too. As the saying goes, “It ain’t over till it’s over.”

You’re alive right now — it’s not over.

You still have a chance to go to confession, where Christ makes all things new. Run to the Eucharist. Don’t purposefully miss Mass. Pray for a peaceful death, for the souls in purgatory, and for the conversion of sinners.

Memento mori. Remember that you will die. Then live accordingly.

As St. Thérèse of Lisieux said, “It is not Death that will come to fetch me — it is the good God.”