Nothing makes you question your own mortality more than the death of your child. That went double for me because, for as long as I could remember, I had been terrified of the big sleep. I spent countless nights catastrophizing about the end of my days, and whenever my train of thought arrived at the last-stop realization of not being here anymore—the moment I went from being to nothingness—it freaked me out something fierce. It came as a jolt of electricity that nearly stopped my heart.

This amplified death anxiety sprang from my simple certitude that once the light goes out, it’s check please, game over, good day sir! I’ve never been religious and didn’t believe in much of anything—until my older son Rob died and changed everything.

I had to believe that Rob’s spirit, soul, cosmic energy, or whatever you want to call it exists in some form somewhere. Not to believe was simply too painful. My own intense fear of death didn’t wholly dissipate until a few years later thanks to several profound psychedelic experiences, which is another story for........

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