Went to see D’s family this evening. I wish I’d known him better. I learned he was very bright (knowing his family, I figured as much). He was skilled mechanically, worked several jobs where he used his hands, including keeping a carnival running. He was funny. And he was loved as a son and a brother. His family amassed a sizable tribute in framed photographs, showing a number of activities they’d done together. From the smiles, you could tell they were good times.
I can’t imagine — nor do I care to — what it feels like to lose a sibling. Just today I reached out to my older sister. It felt so good to hear her voice, to make her laugh, and to make plans. To have that taken away is inevitable, but sad. I’m sure the feeling will be much stronger for whomever remains when one of us moves on.
I think Death looks different as we spend more time with it. At first, it hardly exists. We are in awe and something like horror or terror when it visits us.
Later, we pretend it does not exist. We are immortal. Wise. On the early side of twenty. Then, death. “Look away. That is not for us. It happens to other people.”
We learn to abstract it. It’s simply a harvest of the old, the feeble, the incurably ill. And it’s not fair. It comes other ways, but we’ll not think of those.
Next, Death becomes like a bright, white Volkswagen Beetle. You don’t see either until you look for it, then you realize it is more common than you expected.
Soon, Death becomes the obnoxious neighbor who crashes all your cookouts and you wish you didn’t grill out every week. But you can’t stop.
Eventually, I suppose each of us makes friends with that neighbor and learns he or she can take us to places we’ve never imagined. Or weren’t ready to visit. Today, I just want to be aware enough to slip out the front door as the neighbor is coming through the back gate. We can strike up our friendship later.
I can’t imagine — nor do I care to — what it feels like to lose a sibling. Just today I reached out to my older sister. It felt so good to hear her voice, to make her laugh, and to make plans. To have that taken away is inevitable, but sad. I’m sure the feeling will be much stronger for whomever remains when one of us moves on.
I think Death looks different as we spend more time with it. At first, it hardly exists. We are in awe and something like horror or terror when it visits us.
Later, we pretend it does not exist. We are immortal. Wise. On the early side of twenty. Then, death. “Look away. That is not for us. It happens to other people.”
We learn to abstract it. It’s simply a harvest of the old, the feeble, the incurably ill. And it’s not fair. It comes other ways, but we’ll not think of those.
Next, Death becomes like a bright, white Volkswagen Beetle. You don’t see either until you look for it, then you realize it is more common than you expected.
Soon, Death becomes the obnoxious neighbor who crashes all your cookouts and you wish you didn’t grill out every week. But you can’t stop.
Eventually, I suppose each of us makes friends with that neighbor and learns he or she can take us to places we’ve never imagined. Or weren’t ready to visit. Today, I just want to be aware enough to slip out the front door as the neighbor is coming through the back gate. We can strike up our friendship later.
