I think about death constantly. In some senses, every word I've ever written has death as its shadow, just as every day we live does. I don't fear it, though. In fact, I don't really believe in it.

As you point out, it's just a change, not an ending. Nothing really ends. Our atoms fly off and become a million other things. Does our consciousness, our personality, our soul survive? I'm not convinced that it does. But I'm not convinced it needs to, either. I'm not so high and mighty a thing that a world without me is so very terrible.

Reminds me of a quote of uncertain origin: "Death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.”