Mother Death and the Equal Door

Once, not so long ago—or perhaps ages past, depending on who’s telling the story—Death lived openly among humans. But she was not feared, nor was she cloaked in black with a skeletal grin. No, Death then was known as Mother Death, and she was revered as one of the kindest spirits to walk the Earth.

In every household, a special chair was always kept for her, nestled in the quietest corner of the home, draped in white cloth and surrounded by simple flowers. Children were taught to greet her with rhymes passed down through generations:

“Mother Death, so soft and kind,
Take our hands when it is time.”

They offered her marigolds and forget-me-nots, and in return, she gifted them dreams of stars and oceans, and comforted those who had lost loved ones.

In those days, every person lived exactly one hundred years. No illness ever came too soon, no accident took life unfairly. It was Mother Death who arrived—always on the eve of a hundredth birthday—and gently took the soul of the celebrant by the hand.

Together, they walked through what came to be called the Equal Door.

It was not just a passage to the afterlife—it was a great leveller. Those who entered it were transformed.

The short grew a little taller,
The tall stooped just enough.
The poor found their hands full,
The rich left behind their stuff.
The foolish gathered wisdom,
The clever left behind pride.
All who stepped through the Equal Door
Stood humbly side by side.

No one envied another beyond the door. It was not heaven or hell—it was balance. A second birth, of sorts.

But as time passed, people grew restless with this arrangement. Some felt it unfair to lose their wealth or intellect. Others whispered that one hundred years was too short if you were powerful or beautiful. They built machines, discovered medicines, and created ways to delay Death’s visit.

They forgot to leave out her chair. The children stopped singing her rhymes. Doors were locked, candles snuffed, windows nailed shut.

Mother Death, once welcomed, became a stranger.

And so, she left.

Without her, the Equal Door vanished.

Now, people die young and old, some in pain, others alone. Some rich never share, and the poor may never taste plenty. The wise often speak over the quiet, and the quiet are buried in silence.

Occasionally, in the dim corners of forgotten villages, a child will leave a flower in an empty chair and hum a melody not found in any book. And on that rare night, someone might dream of the Equal Door—wide open, glowing faintly with promise.

But Death no longer walks the earth as a mother. She returns only in secret now, silent and unseen. And no one knows if she will ever return to open the Equal Door again.

Moral of the Story:

When we reject the balance that death brings, we risk losing the fairness it offers. Equality lies not in life’s riches or stature but in how we embrace the final chapter with grace, gratitude, and humility.