Why Should I Let The Thoughts of Death Ruin My Mood?

Ahmed was 34, scrolling through his phone at 11:47 PM, planning his weekend trip to Dubai. He'd already booked the hotel, researched restaurants, even picked out which cologne to pack. His biggest worry was whether his boss would approve his leave request on Monday morning.

The heart attack took him before his head hit the pillow.

His phone stayed lit for another three minutes, displaying his Dubai hotel booking confirmation, before the screen went black. The cologne he'd chosen? Still sitting on his dresser when his mother came to pack his belongings.

Now imagine Ahmed's last moment. Not the chest pain, not the gasping. But that split second when he realized all his tomorrows had just become never. When the weekend in Dubai became someone else's unused reservation. When his five-year career plan became a resignation letter written by grief.

This is the reality we're running from when we say, "Don't let death thoughts ruin your mood."

But here's what I need you to understand: they should ruin your mood. Completely. Beautifully. Devastatingly.

And I'm convinced I need to tell you exactly why.

Look at Ahmed's situation. Look at yours. Look at mine. How many of those we have lost knew the tomorrow they were planning so fiercely for would come to meet them six feet below?

Some of us have spent barely twenty, thirty, maybe a hundred years in this dunya, but we're talking about thousands, millions, billions of years in the akhirah. Ahmed spent 34 years accumulating things, chasing promotions, planning trips. Now he's facing an eternity based on what he did with those 34 years.

This is temporary. That is forever.

The Prophet (peace be upon him) told us:

أَكْثِرُوا ذِكْرَ هَاذِمِ اللَّذَّاتِ يَعْنِي الْمَوْتَ

"Increase in your remembrance of the destroyer of pleasures: death."

[Narrated by Abu Huraira, Sunan al-Tirmidhi 2307]

Notice the word "destroyer." Not dampener. Not limiter. Destroyer. Because when death consciousness hits you properly, it doesn't just interrupt your plans. It demolishes your illusions entirely.

No amount of preparation can prepare us for our own death or the loss of our loved ones.

I wish you would read that again. Let it settle in your chest like a stone dropping into still well water, sending ripples through every comfortable assumption you've made about tomorrow.

Ahmed's mother found his Dubai itinerary printed and folded neatly in his wallet. Three days, four restaurants, a spa appointment he'd never make. She held that paper and realized her son had spent his final evening planning for a future that was already finished.

Allah ‘Azza Wa Jal says in Surah Al-Jumu'ah:

قُلْ إِنَّ الْمَوْتَ الَّذِي تَفِرُّونَ مِنْهُ فَإِنَّهُ مُلَاقِيكُمْ

"Say: Indeed, the death from which you flee will surely meet you."

[Quran 62:8]

As all verses of the glorious Qur'an,the ironic reality is awakening. We spend our lives running from the one appointment we will never miss, building elaborate fortresses of denial around the one truth that needs no proof.

Ahmed was running. Staying busy, staying distracted, filling every moment with plans and purchases and possibilities. The heart attack found him anyway.

We ask Allah for forgiveness in this life and goodness in the next. But goodness? You have to bleed for it. You have to sacrifice sleep for it. You have to choose discomfort in this world to find comfort in the next. The way I pull all nighters for my exams although my bed is made and my blanket us warm because I know I must proceed. The way you work hard like your life depends on it because you're focused in the goal, to be self-sufficient financially.

There's no inheritance when it comes to Jannah, no family connections, no shortcuts, no buying your way in. Ahmed's expensive suits couldn't follow him into the grave. His savings account couldn't purchase him an extra day. His professional network couldn't advocate for his soul.

Just him, his deeds, and Allah's mercy.

Look at the world's population. Over 8 billion people alive right now. Look at the sheer numbers. Now think about how many people Allah has promised Jannah to. If we're going to be among them, and ya Illahi, may we all be among them, then we need to understand something critical: it's going to require the kind of effort that changes everything about how you live.

The kind of work that makes you uncomfortable. The kind of striving that interrupts your Netflix. The kind of sacrifice that your friends won't understand.

When you really remember death, it doesn't ruin your mood, it ruins your illusions.

It ruins your attachment to things that won't matter when the angel of death knocks. Ahmed's apartment was filled with things he thought he needed. Gaming console, expensive watches, protein supplements for a body that would return to dust. Death consciousness would have helped him see these for what they were: temporary decorations in a temporary home.

It ruins your patience for gossip, for grudges, for wasting time on things that add nothing to your scale of good deeds. Ahmed spent his last day arguing with his colleague about a project deadline. A deadline that became irrelevant when his own deadline arrived unannounced.

It ruins your ability to sleep peacefully when you haven't prayed. Ahmed skipped Maghrib because he was "too busy" researching Dubai restaurants. He skipped Isha because he "just needed to finish one more thing." Those missed prayers followed him into a sleep he never woke up from.

The people who say death thoughts ruin the mood are often the ones who've made this temporary world their permanent home in their hearts. They've gotten too comfortable in the waiting room, forgetting they're just travelers with expired tickets.

But well, what's the use of pointing out something already obvious if there are no answers to the questions? How do we stay conscious? How do we avoid becoming Ahmed, planning Dubai trips instead of preparing for eternity? I mean nothing is wrong with planning trips and enjoying this dunya. The only issue is,are you balancing it out with your sole purpose of creation? To woship Allah?

In a bid to advise myself, and you ,dear reader,

Build a circle that talks about death like it matters. Surround yourself with friends who are comfortable discussing the only certainty we all share. Not the morbid kind who drain life from conversations, but the spiritually mature ones who understand that remembering death is remembering your purpose.

You need people who will shake you when you start drowning in this dunya like it's permanent. The ones who will text you "Did you pray Fajr?" not to judge you, but because they genuinely want to see you in Jannah. The friends who will ask, "What did you do today that will matter in your grave?" with the tenderness of someone who loves your soul more than your comfort.

Ahmed had friends. They talked about football, work, women. They never once asked each other about death, about preparation, about what really mattered. His funeral was the first time they gathered to talk about eternity, but Ahmed wasn't there to benefit from the conversation.

Transform your salah from routine to dress rehearsal. Stop rushing through prayers like you're checking items off a productivity list. Death consciousness transforms your prayer from obligation into the most important preparation of your life.

When you're in sujood, remember this might be the last time your forehead touches the ground in this world. When you recite Al-Fātihah, digest each word like it's your final opportunity to ask Allah to guide you to the straight path.

Ahmed's prayer mat was mint new. Not from being an hygiene freak obviously.

Make graveyards your second home.Walk among the headstones and read the dates. Calculate the ages. Twenty-five years old. Thirty-eight. Sixty-two. Twelve. Six months.

Stand over the grave of someone who died at your age. They were once planning their next day, their next year, their next decade. The cemetery is the most honest place on earth. It doesn't care about your LinkedIn profile, your Instagram followers, or your five-year business plan.

Ahmed's gravestone is simple. His name, two dates, and a line his mother chose: "He was planning tomorrow." It's both heartbreaking and perfect. Perfect for you and I to reflect. But him?

Practice letting go while you still have hands to hold. The Prophet (peace be upon him) said,

مُوتُوا قَبْلَ أَنْ تَمُوتُوا

"Die before you die."

Practice forgiveness while you still have breath to ask for it. Practice gratitude while you still have a tongue to express it. Practice charity while you still have wealth to give.

When you're accumulating more than you need, ask yourself: "Who will sort through this when I'm gone?" Ahmed's mother spent three days deciding what to do with his collection of expensive sneakers. Twenty plus pairs. All perfectly preserved. All completely useless to him now.

Let the wordings of Allah ‘Azza Wa Jal about death become your daily soundtrack. When you recite,

كُلُّ نَفْسٍ ذَائِقَةُ الْمَوْتِ

"Every soul shall taste death" [Quran 3:185],

Don't let it roll off your tongue like a background utterance.

Stop. Think. Every soul. Including Ahmed's. Including yours. Including everyone you love who's still making plans for next week.

Here's the truth that strips away all pretense: you are closer to death right now than you were when you started reading this piece. As I write this, I am closer to my death than I was when I began.

Every breath is borrowed time. Every heartbeat is a countdown. Every sunset is a day you'll never get back.

But this isn't meant to paralyze you with fear, it's meant to liberate you from the prison of thinking you have forever. Death consciousness doesn't make our live meaningless; it makes every moment scream with significance.

Ahmed's last Instagram story was a photo of his dinner with the caption "Living my best life." He posted it at 11:32 PM. Fifteen minutes later, his best life was over, and his real life was just beginning.

For those who understand, death consciousness becomes the most precious gift. It makes every Fajr feel like a miracle because you woke up when you could have not. It makes every "Alhamdulillahi Rabbil 'Alameen" taste like honey because you know it might be among your last. It makes you hug people longer, forgive faster, love more desperately.

It makes you live like you're dying. Because you are.

The people we've lost didn't get a warning notification. Ahmed didn't receive an email saying "You have 15 minutes to get your affairs in order." He was googling "best restaurants in Dubai" when his heart stopped googling forever.

So yes, let the thought of death ruin your mood completely. Let it destroy your comfort with mediocrity. Let it demolish your patience for meaningless conversations and pointless pursuits.

Let it remind you that while everyone else is planning Dubai trips that may never happen or planning a future that they won’t ve a part of, you're preparing for an appointment that definitely will.

Because in the end, the only mood that truly matters is the one you'll wear when you meet your Creator. And that mood will be determined not by how many destinations you visited in this dunya or how many mundane accomplishments you have collected, but by how desperately you worked for the only destination that counts.

Let death be your compass. Let it point you toward prayers that feel like preparation, relationships that feel like rehearsals for Jannah, and days that feel like the gifts they actually are instead of the rights you think they are.

Ahmed's compass pointed toward Dubai. He never made it to the airport.

Where is your compass pointing?

Because Allah has already told us the ending: "Indeed, the death from which you flee will surely meet you." The only question left is whether you'll meet it as someone who remembered, or someone who spent their whole life planning trips they'd never take.

May Allah grant us all the wisdom to remember death often, the courage to live like we're dying, and the mercy to die like we lived for Him.

Ameen.

For Ahmed,all our deceased Muslims (may Allah forgive their shortcomings and make them inhabitants of His Paradise) and for all of us still planning the tomorrow that no one promised us.