And yet we still find it odd. I guess the uncertainty is so unsettling.
I call Death "the big door" ( borrowing a reference from one of my favorite writer's titles, "Slam the Big Door." ) because it's either a door that opens into another world, or the final slam in the face that has nothing beyond it but endless night.
When I was a young man, I wanted to be fully concious while dying so I could analyze and observe each moment- but now? I'd really rather not know about it. Seen too much of it.