Dear John,

I hope this letter finds you as well as possible. I know you’ve been through unimaginable hardships over the past few years. Losing multiple family members while also losing both legs in the same accident is a tragedy beyond words. Even after all this time, it must still feel like yesterday. I remember us swimming together before the national competition, your parents cheering us on, always supportive of our goals. And your sister—what a joy she was! I almost envied you for having such a lively and wonderful little sister. Even now, as I write this, I find it difficult to hold back my tears.

John, your wife told me about how you’ve been feeling. She mentioned that despite treatment for trauma and depression, you continue to struggle with thoughts that life has become meaningless. I understand where you’re coming from. No therapy or medication can bring back your parents and sister or restore your legs. I can see why the idea of not continuing this life might seem like the best way forward. It’s your life, and no one understands its pain and burdens better than you. I won’t argue with you about that.

You know me well—I’ve never been overly emotional. I’ve always followed a utilitarian philosophy, believing that our choices should be guided by necessity, whether seeking peace and pleasure or avoiding pain and suffering. I’ve never thought that this life is our only existence. In my years of studying death and dying, I’ve come to believe that our existence continues in some form beyond this life. That’s why I want to share a few thoughts with you, particularly as you contemplate whether ending this life is truly an option, aside from the legal and societal implications of suicide. I know this is an awkward conversation, but it’s one we must have.

When someone considers leaving this plane of existence, they often assume it will bring relief or something better. But before taking that step, it’s crucial to consider whether one can truly leave the way they intend. Imagine a man who decides to leave his town. One evening, he walks out of his house, destroys his key so he can never return, and heads to the train station, carrying only enough money for a ticket. But when he arrives, he discovers the train won’t come for another month. Now, he must endure that month homeless, with no way back. If he had left himself the option to return, he wouldn’t have to suffer even more while waiting.

I share this analogy because of what we’ve learned from near-death experiences. Over my 16 years of research, I’ve seen compelling evidence that people who return from the brink of death often describe an existence separate from their physical body. This suggests that our being isn’t purely physical. If that’s true, then death isn’t merely the end of our body—it also involves the transition of our non-physical self.

Cultural and religious traditions, as well as near-death research, indicate that ending one’s body doesn’t necessarily mean one’s existence ends. Many accounts suggest that people who destroy their physical body may still be conscious, forced to witness the aftermath of their death, including the suffering of their loved ones. And if, after taking that step, one realizes it was a mistake, there is no way to undo it. Worse still, if one’s non-physical self remains tied to this world instead of moving on, the suffering may not end—it may only change in ways we can’t yet understand. Who knows what other difficulties lie beyond, beyond even what we fear now?

I share these thoughts not as arguments, but as considerations from my study of death and dying. You have always agreed that death remains an obscured phenomenon. Given that uncertainty, wouldn’t it be wise to consider the possibility that ending one’s physical existence may not bring the relief one seeks, but instead deepen the struggle?

I won’t make this letter any longer, as I know you are an intelligent man who will ponder these ideas carefully. But while you do, imagine your six-year-old son growing up with pain and sorrow, possibly feeling abandoned. If your consciousness remains, would you have to witness his suffering, unable to intervene? Think also of your wife, who would be left to grieve alone—what if you have to watch her rebuild her life with someone else, unable to communicate your regrets?

Science has never claimed that we are purely physical beings, nor has it confirmed that death is only a physical event. In fact, near-death research suggests otherwise. As a man who values science and rationality, I urge you to consider these possibilities.

Please give my love to your son and wife. I hope to see you soon.

With deepest care,

Your friend,

Samir