Death is only an illusion in so far as life is. But what I do know, with almost utter certainty, is that all the pieces that make me up, little and big, will go on in some form or another. And not just my bones, or molecules, or even atoms; something so much greater and so much smaller than anything as straight forward as that. All the little Logics that make up my mind, my body, my memories, etc.: their dynamics (and therefor the Logics themselves) exist elsewhere. Maybe my sense of humor is logically (or even mathematically) expressible as the rain cycle on some distant planet. Who knows? So all the little things, physical, emotional, or otherwise, will exist in some analogous form, elsewhere, unbeknownst to me until I finally die and return to the potential combinations of systems from which I arose.