There is only one way to solve the problem of death: to live well. If you don't have a way to understand death, if you have a mystery about death, if you're worried about death, there's only one thing you can do: live in the moment. The first encounter with death was in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, in January 2007. My best friend Momo was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer a few months ago. In the Netherlands, where euthanasia is legal, she decided to be euthanized, and I was the only one who could sign the consent form for her. It was almost the first time I found out that death was real, when I was 19, a child and knew nothing about the world. In the past, all the impressions of death came from "hearing" that it was so terrible that adults were not allowed to talk about it.

I heard it was someone else's business; I heard that it is still very long, long enough to wait until they grow big enough, has been fully capable of carrying the time. However, no one has promised me, who will leave this world before who; And no one promised me that death would come when I was ready. It was all so sudden. When she was 6 years old, her parents divorced, she was sentenced to her mother, mother remarried, do not want her, she was put into the welfare home at the door, a year later, silent grandma knew this matter, took her back to the home. From childhood to adolescence, I asked Momo many times about her life in the welfare home during that year, but she never told me or anyone else. She just kept asking "why my mom and dad don't love me". She had taken this question from childhood to youth, from her hometown in Shanxi Province to Beijing to the Netherlands, but she never got the answer that would make her feel relieved. It took me many years to understand that she could not wait to leave this world, not only because of the pain of cancer, but perhaps most of all because she had no love left in this world. I learned for the first time that life and death are so intimately connected, that death never happens all of a sudden. At that time, I did not know what death was.

I just knew that I was going to face it, and I could not escape it. I held the mentality of struggle and prepared to deal with it. The morning of the execution was sunny, and when I stood outside looking at her, her face was full of boredom. At that age, I could not read such feelings -- feelings about the world. In the hallway, I ran into the attending, and he said, Are you ready? He means "I hope you'll stop procrastinating and sign it." I looked down and clicked. I'll never be ready, but I don't have a choice. I walked into the room, silently dragging my aching body half sitting up, trying to force a smile. She didn't say, "You're here..." as usual. She knew, we all knew, that it was the last day. When she gave me a firm look, I knew there was no need to ask "or sign tomorrow." The doctor came in and asked me, is that all right? I still bowed my head and nodded. Sister in my ear gently said, do the last farewell. Later, a lot of people came up and said they understood me, and I realized that the most desperate thing in the world is to have someone say to you, "I know how you feel." How could anyone possibly understand that? Do you know how I feel right now? To end the life of the most important friend in your life, then a ritualized farewell, a polite smile, and say goodbye. "I'm going now." When I said this silently, I really realized that the moment I didn't want to face had come. I still bowed my head and nodded. She went on to say, "You are going to live a good life, along with the part of the world I was supposed to have." I, bowed my head and nodded. We were silent for five seconds, and I suddenly realized that time was running out. I held her, not daring to look her in the eye, held her tightly and said, "I will always, always miss you." "When I found out I had liver cancer, my first thought was not that I was going to die, but, what are you going to do if I go?" Silently seeing my fragile embrace, she said. I thought she regretted it, and I said, "Shall we not sign it then? Give me a little more time, will you?" I believe she felt my plea. I didn't expect it, but she pushed me away and turned around with difficulty. I tried to slap her, but she didn't turn around. This was our last conversation, and she didn't say any more -- there was no need to say any more at this point, it had already been said hundreds of times, and so had I. I pressed the call bell, doctors and translation sister came in, I said ok, translation sister consent form, I sign it, didn't dare to look at her, I don't know, did she looking at me, I these days are all in the fantasy she will regret at the last minute, until the doctor said, you go out, we need to perform, she didn't have any reaction, I know, it has come to an end. When I leave the door, the curtains of the French window, which I can see inside, are drawn back. I didn't know why I pulled it off. My pain later was more because I saw her die, but at the time, I just didn't want to miss the last few seconds of seeing her in my life, even if it was only a few minutes. I stood outside the door, watching the doctors and nurses prepare the drugs for injection and count the documents related to euthanasia. Silently and I looked at each other. She waved with me, waved with one hand and made a victory sign with the other, saying goodbye and giving me strength. At least that's the way I understand it. I didn't cry. I kept a stiff smile on my face. I used to cry because I wanted her to feel sorry for me and let me go. Start injection time, suddenly very quiet, very quiet and peace, I saw the silent face of her all the attachment in the world -- that is me, to now also have no, the doctor said it's about half an hour she will die, but in fact, not so long, about ten minutes, I saw her slowly, bit by bit close your eyes, when she closed her eyes, I knew she was dead, and I knew it, very clearly, that she was dead. But it was still calm, and there was no more pain or sorrow. It wasn't until the doctor looked at the monitor, covered her with a white cloth, said something in Dutch to the nurse next to her, came out and said to me that she was gone and that the time of death was whatever it was, that I started to cry on my knees, crying my heart out.

There is only one way to solve the problem of death: to live well. If you don't have a way to understand death, if you have a mystery about death, if you're worried about death, there's only one thing you can do: live in the moment. The first encounter with death was in Amsterdam, the Netherlands, in January 2007. My best friend Momo was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer a few months ago. In the Netherlands, where euthanasia is legal, she decided to be euthanized, and I was the only one who could sign the consent form for her. It was almost the first time I found out that death was real, when I was 19, a child and knew nothing about the world. In the past, all the impressions of death came from "hearing" that it was so terrible that adults were not allowed to talk about it.

I heard it was someone else's business; I heard that it is still very long, long enough to wait until they grow big enough, has been fully capable of carrying the time. However, no one has promised me, who will leave this world before who; And no one promised me that death would come when I was ready. It was all so sudden. When she was 6 years old, her parents divorced, she was sentenced to her mother, mother remarried, do not want her, she was put into the welfare home at the door, a year later, silent grandma knew this matter, took her back to the home. From childhood to adolescence, I asked Momo many times about her life in the welfare home during that year, but she never told me or anyone else. She just kept asking "why my mom and dad don't love me". She had taken this question from childhood to youth, from her hometown in Shanxi Province to Beijing to the Netherlands, but she never got the answer that would make her feel relieved. It took me many years to understand that she could not wait to leave this world, not only because of the pain of cancer, but perhaps most of all because she had no love left in this world. I learned for the first time that life and death are so intimately connected, that death never happens all of a sudden. At that time, I did not know what death was.

I just knew that I was going to face it, and I could not escape it. I held the mentality of struggle and prepared to deal with it. The morning of the execution was sunny, and when I stood outside looking at her, her face was full of boredom. At that age, I could not read such feelings -- feelings about the world. In the hallway, I ran into the attending, and he said, Are you ready? He means "I hope you'll stop procrastinating and sign it." I looked down and clicked. I'll never be ready, but I don't have a choice. I walked into the room, silently dragging my aching body half sitting up, trying to force a smile. She didn't say, "You're here..." as usual. She knew, we all knew, that it was the last day. When she gave me a firm look, I knew there was no need to ask "or sign tomorrow." The doctor came in and asked me, is that all right? I still bowed my head and nodded. Sister in my ear gently said, do the last farewell. Later, a lot of people came up and said they understood me, and I realized that the most desperate thing in the world is to have someone say to you, "I know how you feel." How could anyone possibly understand that? Do you know how I feel right now? To end the life of the most important friend in your life, then a ritualized farewell, a polite smile, and say goodbye. "I'm going now." When I said this silently, I really realized that the moment I didn't want to face had come. I still bowed my head and nodded. She went on to say, "You are going to live a good life, along with the part of the world I was supposed to have." I, bowed my head and nodded. We were silent for five seconds, and I suddenly realized that time was running out. I held her, not daring to look her in the eye, held her tightly and said, "I will always, always miss you." "When I found out I had liver cancer, my first thought was not that I was going to die, but, what are you going to do if I go?" Silently seeing my fragile embrace, she said. I thought she regretted it, and I said, "Shall we not sign it then? Give me a little more time, will you?" I believe she felt my plea. I didn't expect it, but she pushed me away and turned around with difficulty. I tried to slap her, but she didn't turn around. This was our last conversation, and she didn't say any more -- there was no need to say any more at this point, it had already been said hundreds of times, and so had I. I pressed the call bell, doctors and translation sister came in, I said ok, translation sister consent form, I sign it, didn't dare to look at her, I don't know, did she looking at me, I these days are all in the fantasy she will regret at the last minute, until the doctor said, you go out, we need to perform, she didn't have any reaction, I know, it has come to an end. When I leave the door, the curtains of the French window, which I can see inside, are drawn back. I didn't know why I pulled it off. My pain later was more because I saw her die, but at the time, I just didn't want to miss the last few seconds of seeing her in my life, even if it was only a few minutes. I stood outside the door, watching the doctors and nurses prepare the drugs for injection and count the documents related to euthanasia. Silently and I looked at each other. She waved with me, waved with one hand and made a victory sign with the other, saying goodbye and giving me strength. At least that's the way I understand it. I didn't cry. I kept a stiff smile on my face. I used to cry because I wanted her to feel sorry for me and let me go. Start injection time, suddenly very quiet, very quiet and peace, I saw the silent face of her all the attachment in the world -- that is me, to now also have no, the doctor said it's about half an hour she will die, but in fact, not so long, about ten minutes, I saw her slowly, bit by bit close your eyes, when she closed her eyes, I knew she was dead, and I knew it, very clearly, that she was dead. But it was still calm, and there was no more pain or sorrow. It wasn't until the doctor looked at the monitor, covered her with a white cloth, said something in Dutch to the nurse next to her, came out and said to me that she was gone and that the time of death was whatever it was, that I started to cry on my knees, crying my heart out.