For Not Having Cured Death Just Yet
"How are you doing" is the strangest question. I mean, it's not strange when asked and it is almost never for malicious intent, but if the answer is going to take more than a couple of sentences then what are you to do? Well, you probably do as I do - say you're alright. Okay. Fine. That's accurate for a majority of what is going on in my head at any one given time so I don't really feel as though I'm lying to anyone.
I have to be doing fine. Since I'm not huddled in a corner somewhere, rocking myself back and forth dealing with the crushing reality that reality does in fact have an end for each living being, I must be dealing with things okay. So I'm being honest. Mostly.
I haven't been able to read the last post that I wrote here. Each time I've tried I've unlocked each and every feeling that I had at the time I wrote it. Much like even though it is still the most recent Note that I have posted in Facebook, I haven't been able to go back and read The Eulogy. I've got enough copies of it floating around, thanks to Dropbox and my propensity to sync everything with everything. I glance past the file name every time and keep going on with my day.
I wrote a eulogy this year. I read it out loud. In front of people. At a funeral. For my mother. It's difficult to wrap my head around any of that. Yet here it is.
I won't even dare to say that I haven't changed since then. That would be a disservice to the intelligence of anyone who knows me more than at passing. I've never really spelled out how and in what ways, mainly because I haven't really put it all together in my head until now. It's a permanent work in progress like life is, but there are some definite changes.
I can't write anymore. There's this post, there's the one I wrote in April. There's the eulogy. That's about it. I used to love to write about politics and the climate and even tech stuff sometimes. I still have new thoughts in my head that I could probably type out if I chained myself to my chair and just waited for me to give into it but I don't really see there to be much point in all of it.
That's the first change: the realization that life is too short.
The cliffnotes of everything I'd ever wax poetic about in the mentioned areas: liberalism good, Ayn Rand followers ought to jump off the nearest cliff, and soon since rising sea levels will eventually turn the drop into a beach. The end.
"Given up" is a harsh term but that's basically what I've done, already admitting there is no point. Now don't get me wrong, I am not solemnly walking through my days patiently waiting for my heart to give out or be hit by a bus. No, I just figure there's more productive things I could be doing. Photography, for instance. Actually that's probably the only hobby that I had from before that I'm still bothering to try with because I am firmly wrapped up in the safe cocoon that I'm actually doing something unique and not contributing to a dulled echo chamber. A few google searches and just browsing around the common area of Flickr could crush that made up reality at a whim but I decide to not do such things to myself. I have to hang my hat on something. So I pretend I'm good at photography. Or good enough. Marginal?
I've taken more time to look at the sky and clouds floating by. I've stared at a few more sunrises and sunsets. I've sat outside and watched some more thunderstorms roll by. The natural order of things, with a very defined beginning and an entirely unavoidable end, still do offer plenty of beauty for the eyes in the interim. I'm sure I'll enjoy the coming Autumn more than I've enjoyed any previous, because of this new found sense of wanting to hold on to every moment because in the end, everything dies.
Morbid realism? I'm not sure.
I'm a fully functional adult, I'm happy to say. It took a bit to get back to this point. If you count backwards from feeling okay now - which has gone on for about a month - you'll step back toward when I was in an insane manic phase for the latter half of the Spring. I did everything that I could to not think about anything. That involved coming into work at 7:30 in the morning and not leaving until 6 or 6:30 in the evening. It involved writing things I didn't feel like writing deep down, and plugging every available extra moment with a video game or exercising or just some sort of activity so I couldn't sit down and think about anything. Productivity went through the roof.
How'd that work out for me? Well, in the first week of June I went back to Michigan. The trip involved a lot of emotion, big events both positive and negative. Since I was away from my computer and my city and my job I got to sit down and think here and there. Didn't go so well. I had done my best to not let the emotions get to me for months and I figured that an outlet was around the corner, a breakdown of some sort. I was blissfully naive enough to assume that there'd be no collateral damage when it finally happened. What I wasn't expecting was for it to happen right during the middle of a wedding party for one of my best friends. The formula was amazingly simple, really. The husband of my newly married friend took to the floor to do the Mother/Son dance. One single thought crossed my head:
Gee. I'm never going to experience this moment. Not like this. Ever.
And I was done. Now thankfully for my ability to show my face anywhere in the state of Michigan again I was calm from all outward appearances. Droopy and/or extremely sad looking face not withstanding. I tried to drink it away and that didn't help. I tried to take a few pictures for my friend instead and I still felt rather useless and helpless. I already knew I wasn't snapping out of it that night, that ship had already sailed. So hey, check out the fruits of my labor of putting off facing my thoughts! I marred a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Can't go back and relive it. That's in stone. I'll kick myself forever for that. I think I'd rather do that then try to forgive myself. I can't forgive myself for handling something in a terrible manner.
Of course on the other hand the thing I'm trying to handle is death so maybe I should cut myself some slack. Eh...
I've been fine since! For what that's worth. "Fine" defined in the first few rambling paragraphs to start this off. I've been living from day to day and I really can't or don't want to ask much more of myself. There's day-to-day life, and then there's Plans. Most Plans involve me traveling. They don't necessarily have a set time, they're more of in a Bucket List format in my head, but still. They're things to look forward to, and I've decided that since I'm not dead yet I really don't have much reason to not think about the future.
I mean technically I'll live forever. So will you. We all do. We live the full possibility of time that our flesh and blood allow. We have no memory of the eons before us, and all that is to come is as real as a comic book fantasy. Some of it we get to see come true. A whole lot more of it will remain nothing more than shiny pages with pretty pictures. In between two infinity signs sits our life, in an equally as ill-defined construct that is all Forever can possibly be. So let's get to dreaming!
I shudder at the thought of what will happen the first time I try to explain that to someone in real life. Someone I currently don't already know. With my luck it will be over a few drinks and on a date. Either I'll never hear from the person again or I'll wind up engaged. I don't think there's much middle ground to mental streams like I just leaked all over this page. Still, it's as much Me as anything else is these days. This is my new phase, I guess. The way I'll be.
I think the hardest thing is the realization that nothing really changes for everyone else after death. Do you know that on the day after my mom died, a Wednesday, that the sun had the audacity to rise? Yeah. The Earth continued to spin and we kept holding our place in orbit and people went to work and couples fell in love and the news cycle continued - everything kept going! Nothing stopped except for those in mourning.
Life gradually started again for the mourners too, like a large train slowly lumbering along the tracks, pulling out of a darkened rail depot or derelict station. Parts of the scenery changed, but the straight and forward trajectory continued. I used to talk to my mom every weekend. Now it's my sister. My caller ID used to say Mom for that number. Now it says Dad. The first days of spring used to be a happy and hopeful time. Now they're not. I used to dread the holiday season. Now I don't think I will. Small changes, but still the same tracks.
I do miss her. I'm saddened at everything she'll never get to see. Whatever it is I'll do or become in life. However her grandchildren and great grandchildren grow up. Whatever happens and changes in the world. It's all lost to her. But then I remember the excruciating pain over those final few months. I remember that the last ten conversations between us may have contained three complete sentences. And none of the last three did. It's better this way, despite the selfishness of the living.
So to answer the question, "How am I doing?" I'm trying to get along. To make sense of it all. It's not easy, even though by all outward appearances my life has returned to normal and has resumed being generally positive. There's a dark undercurrent, not of depression, but of realization that days are numbered, the end for us all is exactly the same, and a hope that I'll live as much as I can in whatever time the trillion variables that govern our life allows me. I hope it goes well, and I'll do my best to steer things in a positive direction. I'll try.
That's how I am. That's what I'm doing. Trying.
I have to be doing fine. Since I'm not huddled in a corner somewhere, rocking myself back and forth dealing with the crushing reality that reality does in fact have an end for each living being, I must be dealing with things okay. So I'm being honest. Mostly.
I haven't been able to read the last post that I wrote here. Each time I've tried I've unlocked each and every feeling that I had at the time I wrote it. Much like even though it is still the most recent Note that I have posted in Facebook, I haven't been able to go back and read The Eulogy. I've got enough copies of it floating around, thanks to Dropbox and my propensity to sync everything with everything. I glance past the file name every time and keep going on with my day.
I wrote a eulogy this year. I read it out loud. In front of people. At a funeral. For my mother. It's difficult to wrap my head around any of that. Yet here it is.
I won't even dare to say that I haven't changed since then. That would be a disservice to the intelligence of anyone who knows me more than at passing. I've never really spelled out how and in what ways, mainly because I haven't really put it all together in my head until now. It's a permanent work in progress like life is, but there are some definite changes.
I can't write anymore. There's this post, there's the one I wrote in April. There's the eulogy. That's about it. I used to love to write about politics and the climate and even tech stuff sometimes. I still have new thoughts in my head that I could probably type out if I chained myself to my chair and just waited for me to give into it but I don't really see there to be much point in all of it.
That's the first change: the realization that life is too short.
The cliffnotes of everything I'd ever wax poetic about in the mentioned areas: liberalism good, Ayn Rand followers ought to jump off the nearest cliff, and soon since rising sea levels will eventually turn the drop into a beach. The end.
"Given up" is a harsh term but that's basically what I've done, already admitting there is no point. Now don't get me wrong, I am not solemnly walking through my days patiently waiting for my heart to give out or be hit by a bus. No, I just figure there's more productive things I could be doing. Photography, for instance. Actually that's probably the only hobby that I had from before that I'm still bothering to try with because I am firmly wrapped up in the safe cocoon that I'm actually doing something unique and not contributing to a dulled echo chamber. A few google searches and just browsing around the common area of Flickr could crush that made up reality at a whim but I decide to not do such things to myself. I have to hang my hat on something. So I pretend I'm good at photography. Or good enough. Marginal?
I've taken more time to look at the sky and clouds floating by. I've stared at a few more sunrises and sunsets. I've sat outside and watched some more thunderstorms roll by. The natural order of things, with a very defined beginning and an entirely unavoidable end, still do offer plenty of beauty for the eyes in the interim. I'm sure I'll enjoy the coming Autumn more than I've enjoyed any previous, because of this new found sense of wanting to hold on to every moment because in the end, everything dies.
Morbid realism? I'm not sure.
I'm a fully functional adult, I'm happy to say. It took a bit to get back to this point. If you count backwards from feeling okay now - which has gone on for about a month - you'll step back toward when I was in an insane manic phase for the latter half of the Spring. I did everything that I could to not think about anything. That involved coming into work at 7:30 in the morning and not leaving until 6 or 6:30 in the evening. It involved writing things I didn't feel like writing deep down, and plugging every available extra moment with a video game or exercising or just some sort of activity so I couldn't sit down and think about anything. Productivity went through the roof.
How'd that work out for me? Well, in the first week of June I went back to Michigan. The trip involved a lot of emotion, big events both positive and negative. Since I was away from my computer and my city and my job I got to sit down and think here and there. Didn't go so well. I had done my best to not let the emotions get to me for months and I figured that an outlet was around the corner, a breakdown of some sort. I was blissfully naive enough to assume that there'd be no collateral damage when it finally happened. What I wasn't expecting was for it to happen right during the middle of a wedding party for one of my best friends. The formula was amazingly simple, really. The husband of my newly married friend took to the floor to do the Mother/Son dance. One single thought crossed my head:
Gee. I'm never going to experience this moment. Not like this. Ever.
And I was done. Now thankfully for my ability to show my face anywhere in the state of Michigan again I was calm from all outward appearances. Droopy and/or extremely sad looking face not withstanding. I tried to drink it away and that didn't help. I tried to take a few pictures for my friend instead and I still felt rather useless and helpless. I already knew I wasn't snapping out of it that night, that ship had already sailed. So hey, check out the fruits of my labor of putting off facing my thoughts! I marred a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Can't go back and relive it. That's in stone. I'll kick myself forever for that. I think I'd rather do that then try to forgive myself. I can't forgive myself for handling something in a terrible manner.
Of course on the other hand the thing I'm trying to handle is death so maybe I should cut myself some slack. Eh...
I've been fine since! For what that's worth. "Fine" defined in the first few rambling paragraphs to start this off. I've been living from day to day and I really can't or don't want to ask much more of myself. There's day-to-day life, and then there's Plans. Most Plans involve me traveling. They don't necessarily have a set time, they're more of in a Bucket List format in my head, but still. They're things to look forward to, and I've decided that since I'm not dead yet I really don't have much reason to not think about the future.
I mean technically I'll live forever. So will you. We all do. We live the full possibility of time that our flesh and blood allow. We have no memory of the eons before us, and all that is to come is as real as a comic book fantasy. Some of it we get to see come true. A whole lot more of it will remain nothing more than shiny pages with pretty pictures. In between two infinity signs sits our life, in an equally as ill-defined construct that is all Forever can possibly be. So let's get to dreaming!
I shudder at the thought of what will happen the first time I try to explain that to someone in real life. Someone I currently don't already know. With my luck it will be over a few drinks and on a date. Either I'll never hear from the person again or I'll wind up engaged. I don't think there's much middle ground to mental streams like I just leaked all over this page. Still, it's as much Me as anything else is these days. This is my new phase, I guess. The way I'll be.
I think the hardest thing is the realization that nothing really changes for everyone else after death. Do you know that on the day after my mom died, a Wednesday, that the sun had the audacity to rise? Yeah. The Earth continued to spin and we kept holding our place in orbit and people went to work and couples fell in love and the news cycle continued - everything kept going! Nothing stopped except for those in mourning.
Life gradually started again for the mourners too, like a large train slowly lumbering along the tracks, pulling out of a darkened rail depot or derelict station. Parts of the scenery changed, but the straight and forward trajectory continued. I used to talk to my mom every weekend. Now it's my sister. My caller ID used to say Mom for that number. Now it says Dad. The first days of spring used to be a happy and hopeful time. Now they're not. I used to dread the holiday season. Now I don't think I will. Small changes, but still the same tracks.
I do miss her. I'm saddened at everything she'll never get to see. Whatever it is I'll do or become in life. However her grandchildren and great grandchildren grow up. Whatever happens and changes in the world. It's all lost to her. But then I remember the excruciating pain over those final few months. I remember that the last ten conversations between us may have contained three complete sentences. And none of the last three did. It's better this way, despite the selfishness of the living.
So to answer the question, "How am I doing?" I'm trying to get along. To make sense of it all. It's not easy, even though by all outward appearances my life has returned to normal and has resumed being generally positive. There's a dark undercurrent, not of depression, but of realization that days are numbered, the end for us all is exactly the same, and a hope that I'll live as much as I can in whatever time the trillion variables that govern our life allows me. I hope it goes well, and I'll do my best to steer things in a positive direction. I'll try.
That's how I am. That's what I'm doing. Trying.