Most of us acknowledge the eventuality of our own death. We can see from others around us that death -- leaving this plane of existence in our current form -- takes everyone and everything. At one point or another, all things succumb to this principle. It doesn't matter if we're referring to Aunt Martha, a robin, a washing machine or an idea. One of the apparent certainties of life is death.
Yet, on a personal basis, death is unreal. It has to be, lest we would be unable to function as living creatures. It is nothing more than a vague concept that we don't begin to comprehend. We know that it awaits each of us, but we don't know when, where or how. It could happen at any second and yet it appears to be on a far off distant horizon, one that is entirely out of view.
The only thing that supremely is real is the current moment. At times, we may transport ourselves in the mind to the past or future, but neither time frame is real. We can't touch them. We can't change them. We can't live them.
The only time we truly can feel in all its vibrancy is this moment and in this moment -- even if the Grim Reaper is tapping me on the shoulder impatiently -- death is not here. As an atheist, I suspect that the moment of my actual death will prove to be just as unreal as it is now because I won't be conscious of it. I simply will cease to be.