The death of my uncle over a year ago was also a new lease on life between my dad and me. Another one of my uncles died recently, and that had the opposite effect. It was the end of my dealings with my dad.
It seems like one of the reasons we resist truly changing is that it feels like the death of who we think we are. Sometimes it has to become so unbearable to be our false self, that we finally decide to change (for the better). There’s a grieving and mourning process involved when we change.
Life and death are lovers. Their eternal dance perpetuates our existence. They are not so separate, after all.