33
Last weekend, a very dear man who I didn't know very well, but who nevertheless had a fairly big impact on my psyche, died in a car accident. After I heard the news last Saturday night I was very preoccupied with it for some days. I was saddened by the gaping hole his death leaves in the world, and the impact his permanent absence, which so abruptly replaces his absolute presence, will have on the lives of his wife and baby daughter, as well as his many friends.
I realized that death really scares me.
I'm not so arrogant as to think that I'm alone in this: quite the contrary. I'm a conscious person, a consumer of art and literature, a thinking person who interacts with others, and I know that the fear of death shapes and surrounds many things that many people do and create and think about. Most of the time, the fact of our own deaths or those of the people around us just kind of hangs out in the background, nudging us or twinkling our brains, but not existing front and centre. If it did, we'd probably all be paralyzed by fear every minute. And I think I've been feeling a little of that this past week, because the fact of this wonderful person's cruel and sudden departure from this world has drawn the idea of death out of the shadows and into the light.
I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of the impact that my death would have on the people around me, particularly my daughter. I'm afraid that after I die I'll experience some kind of agony of being aware of her feeling sad and afraid and lonely and I'll have no way of helping her. As I write this, I feel like it sounds like I'm on some kind of power or ego trip...how can I be so sure anyone would even care if I died? Or else that it's just my inner control freak: the thing that I fear is my inability to influence or be involved. Well, probably there is something to that. But that doesn't make it less genuine or legitimate, does it?
When I learned that my friend was 33 years old when he died, I thought of Brian. He was another beautiful person who died suddenly at age 33. He was the first person, the first peer of mine, who was really close to me, who died. I've had family members die: grandparents, great-grandparents, but never a person I'd loved deeply and tenderly, someone I'd been close to and intimate with. When he died, we'd only recently been back in touch with each other after a long absence, and his renewed presence in my life was at that time acting as a catalyst for me to fix some other things that I really needed to change in order to get out of a very bad rut. I was starting to feel hopeful, and good about myself, for the first time in a long time. I was realizing that I could feel love, and that I deserved to be loved, and more importantly, that I was not feeling it or living it even though I thought I was. It was some big stuff. And then he was unceremoniously yanked from this plane, and I was immeasurably bereft, but had no place to express my grief. It was agonizing.
At times like these, people often resort to cheesy platitudes, often with a religious flavour. Things like, "he was too good for this world, and [insert supreme being here] has called him back." And you start hearing about things like the good life on this plane paying off in the Hereafter. Stuff I would normally think was utter bullshit. But when the grief and confusion, the injustice of it, are bearing down on my soul, I find even my own, normally pragmatic self resorting to them. I actually found myself thinking some of those things this past week or so, and when there is no comfort to be had, I turn my hopeful ears to what sounds like some solid philosophy, something that has some suggestion of an explanation for what really makes no sense at all. I found myself remembering that Jesus was said to have died at age 33. As if that means something.
I suppose that through this senseless death, of a superior human whose impact on the world will reverberate for many lifetimes to come, I am revisiting that other tragic loss, and I am facing that which scares me the very most. Yet even as I write this I feel other things crowding in to the recesses of my mind: my daughter's head cold, my messy kitchen, my own wonderful partner. I know that this, too, shall pass, if only because I am living my life and seeking out pleasures and challenges without feeling sad and afraid. I do it every day.
I realized that death really scares me.
I'm not so arrogant as to think that I'm alone in this: quite the contrary. I'm a conscious person, a consumer of art and literature, a thinking person who interacts with others, and I know that the fear of death shapes and surrounds many things that many people do and create and think about. Most of the time, the fact of our own deaths or those of the people around us just kind of hangs out in the background, nudging us or twinkling our brains, but not existing front and centre. If it did, we'd probably all be paralyzed by fear every minute. And I think I've been feeling a little of that this past week, because the fact of this wonderful person's cruel and sudden departure from this world has drawn the idea of death out of the shadows and into the light.
I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of the impact that my death would have on the people around me, particularly my daughter. I'm afraid that after I die I'll experience some kind of agony of being aware of her feeling sad and afraid and lonely and I'll have no way of helping her. As I write this, I feel like it sounds like I'm on some kind of power or ego trip...how can I be so sure anyone would even care if I died? Or else that it's just my inner control freak: the thing that I fear is my inability to influence or be involved. Well, probably there is something to that. But that doesn't make it less genuine or legitimate, does it?
When I learned that my friend was 33 years old when he died, I thought of Brian. He was another beautiful person who died suddenly at age 33. He was the first person, the first peer of mine, who was really close to me, who died. I've had family members die: grandparents, great-grandparents, but never a person I'd loved deeply and tenderly, someone I'd been close to and intimate with. When he died, we'd only recently been back in touch with each other after a long absence, and his renewed presence in my life was at that time acting as a catalyst for me to fix some other things that I really needed to change in order to get out of a very bad rut. I was starting to feel hopeful, and good about myself, for the first time in a long time. I was realizing that I could feel love, and that I deserved to be loved, and more importantly, that I was not feeling it or living it even though I thought I was. It was some big stuff. And then he was unceremoniously yanked from this plane, and I was immeasurably bereft, but had no place to express my grief. It was agonizing.
At times like these, people often resort to cheesy platitudes, often with a religious flavour. Things like, "he was too good for this world, and [insert supreme being here] has called him back." And you start hearing about things like the good life on this plane paying off in the Hereafter. Stuff I would normally think was utter bullshit. But when the grief and confusion, the injustice of it, are bearing down on my soul, I find even my own, normally pragmatic self resorting to them. I actually found myself thinking some of those things this past week or so, and when there is no comfort to be had, I turn my hopeful ears to what sounds like some solid philosophy, something that has some suggestion of an explanation for what really makes no sense at all. I found myself remembering that Jesus was said to have died at age 33. As if that means something.
I suppose that through this senseless death, of a superior human whose impact on the world will reverberate for many lifetimes to come, I am revisiting that other tragic loss, and I am facing that which scares me the very most. Yet even as I write this I feel other things crowding in to the recesses of my mind: my daughter's head cold, my messy kitchen, my own wonderful partner. I know that this, too, shall pass, if only because I am living my life and seeking out pleasures and challenges without feeling sad and afraid. I do it every day.
posted by infobabe | 10:14 p.m.
1 Comments:
Awww! hug. Check your email and your phone messages.
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