The Coffee Shop at the End of the World
A family member recently passed. Such is the experience of life. I suppose that this is something one needs to get used to as one gets older. Actually, it absolutely is such a thing. This is the way it all goes, after all.
So one of the reactions I had, remembering that this individual talked to my mom a whole lot when they were younger, was along the lines of Well hey, mom has someone else to keep her company now. I said it without reservation or much thought, but of everyone I said it to I did receive one response that made me think. I didn't really believe that, did I? Afterlife and eternity and it's all going to be alright in the end because of whatever was slipstreamed into my developing brain as I went through childhood - I don't really buy into it, do I?
No, not in particular. It was a reflex. A comforted reaction. A wish.
Due to the distressing lack of direct evidence of an afterlife and a basic education (catholic schooling, no less) I've come to my own conclusion that after this organic supercomputer fires information down the central nervous system for the last time, there's probably nothing coming after the fact - no reboots, no second chances, no do-overs, no eternity (no matter how close science will get us). It's a cold, cold thought and reality and I say with full force and conviction that it makes coping with life's unpleasant realities much, much more difficult. It does make hugs more valuable though, makes conflict seem more petty, love all the more important. Yet when presented with the reality of another death one of my very first thoughts was the illogical "well at least she has someone else to talk to now."
We miss someone when they're gone but we don't fall apart because they'll be back. A day, week, month, year - they'll be back. We'll see them again. We'll talk and remember and make new memories and we'll feel like old times again and just for a little while things will be okay. Death brings sadness not so much because we are depressed that the person on the other end of this relationship is no longer with us, but more so because the connections we had with them are forever severed. They're not coming back. You won't laugh in the same way, say the same things, or form any new memories. All that remains of their existence is now confined to the memories of your own mind. The only face to face interaction in the future to come plays out behind your eyes this time, never again in front.
You miss the connections, the opportunity to talk, to share. Say what you will about those who think the internet days have led to a useless epidemic of sharing but I would argue that sharing is the entire crux of our interpersonal existence. We’ve just become exceedingly efficient at it. All we want to do though is share the human experience with someone and have it shared back: how was your day at work? Did you see the Tigers game? Guess what I made for dinner? I got a promotion! I’m taking a vacation. Here’s my vacation photos. I miss you. You’ve lost that. You pine for it to return but it won’t. Not like this, and not with that person.
In thoughts of your own death and reflexive beliefs you have a few seconds of hope and maybe even serenity. I’m going to see you again! Oh the things I have to tell you. It all worked out. It went okay. I got better at my job. I moved. I met this person. They became my partner. We lived. Oh, did we live. It was good. I wish you could have been there, but now we’re together again. Let me tell you about it.
I can’t do that yet. I’m still here. So someone else is sitting at the table now, keeping her occupied for the time being. Others will join. They’ll have a grand old time as each comes with exciting new tails of how it all turned out. She’ll feel less alone because she’s back to making connections, back to talking. Death isn’t the end of everything, it’s just a communication barrier - a downed long distance line. Soon enough you’ll get to visit face to face though, and oh the stories you’ll have to tell.
The muted euphoria, fleeing good feelings, hope. They don’t hold water for very long. As soon as the balloon is lifted out of the pool of ritualistic thought, fleeting optimism drains through pinpricks. This is not the way it’s going to be, and you know it. No pearly gates, no fire eternal, not even a coffee shop in purgatory. There’s no conversations happening now, not outside of your own head. What was cold and real yesterday will be so tomorrow and next century. But just to dream, just for a second that you’ll get to catch up. How captivating a dream.
It wouldn’t work, though. If you knew there was another conversation to come - separated by an inconvenient amount of time - the existing conversations wouldn’t hold as much value. You wouldn’t say so much or hug so tightly because there will always be at least one more. Finality drives meaning and meaning drives life, and life should give you something to talk about. Now. While we’re all still here.
What I should have said, what would have been more accurate, was “I wish this meant she’d have someone to talk to now. It might not be so lonely while she’s waiting for me,” but that’s cold and dark and maybe just a few minutes out of the many it’s to the benefit of the psyche to suspend processing of reality in your head. Just to get through this. There’s the rest of time to live with realism, and lord knows it is a lesson that will be taught frequently - no matter how much you already understand it. So just for a few seconds before I plunge back into reality and face another day, I’ll waste this next moment:
I’ll see you again. We’ll talk. Oh, the stories I’ll have to tell. You’ll be so proud.
So one of the reactions I had, remembering that this individual talked to my mom a whole lot when they were younger, was along the lines of Well hey, mom has someone else to keep her company now. I said it without reservation or much thought, but of everyone I said it to I did receive one response that made me think. I didn't really believe that, did I? Afterlife and eternity and it's all going to be alright in the end because of whatever was slipstreamed into my developing brain as I went through childhood - I don't really buy into it, do I?
No, not in particular. It was a reflex. A comforted reaction. A wish.
Due to the distressing lack of direct evidence of an afterlife and a basic education (catholic schooling, no less) I've come to my own conclusion that after this organic supercomputer fires information down the central nervous system for the last time, there's probably nothing coming after the fact - no reboots, no second chances, no do-overs, no eternity (no matter how close science will get us). It's a cold, cold thought and reality and I say with full force and conviction that it makes coping with life's unpleasant realities much, much more difficult. It does make hugs more valuable though, makes conflict seem more petty, love all the more important. Yet when presented with the reality of another death one of my very first thoughts was the illogical "well at least she has someone else to talk to now."
We miss someone when they're gone but we don't fall apart because they'll be back. A day, week, month, year - they'll be back. We'll see them again. We'll talk and remember and make new memories and we'll feel like old times again and just for a little while things will be okay. Death brings sadness not so much because we are depressed that the person on the other end of this relationship is no longer with us, but more so because the connections we had with them are forever severed. They're not coming back. You won't laugh in the same way, say the same things, or form any new memories. All that remains of their existence is now confined to the memories of your own mind. The only face to face interaction in the future to come plays out behind your eyes this time, never again in front.
You miss the connections, the opportunity to talk, to share. Say what you will about those who think the internet days have led to a useless epidemic of sharing but I would argue that sharing is the entire crux of our interpersonal existence. We’ve just become exceedingly efficient at it. All we want to do though is share the human experience with someone and have it shared back: how was your day at work? Did you see the Tigers game? Guess what I made for dinner? I got a promotion! I’m taking a vacation. Here’s my vacation photos. I miss you. You’ve lost that. You pine for it to return but it won’t. Not like this, and not with that person.
In thoughts of your own death and reflexive beliefs you have a few seconds of hope and maybe even serenity. I’m going to see you again! Oh the things I have to tell you. It all worked out. It went okay. I got better at my job. I moved. I met this person. They became my partner. We lived. Oh, did we live. It was good. I wish you could have been there, but now we’re together again. Let me tell you about it.
I can’t do that yet. I’m still here. So someone else is sitting at the table now, keeping her occupied for the time being. Others will join. They’ll have a grand old time as each comes with exciting new tails of how it all turned out. She’ll feel less alone because she’s back to making connections, back to talking. Death isn’t the end of everything, it’s just a communication barrier - a downed long distance line. Soon enough you’ll get to visit face to face though, and oh the stories you’ll have to tell.
The muted euphoria, fleeing good feelings, hope. They don’t hold water for very long. As soon as the balloon is lifted out of the pool of ritualistic thought, fleeting optimism drains through pinpricks. This is not the way it’s going to be, and you know it. No pearly gates, no fire eternal, not even a coffee shop in purgatory. There’s no conversations happening now, not outside of your own head. What was cold and real yesterday will be so tomorrow and next century. But just to dream, just for a second that you’ll get to catch up. How captivating a dream.
It wouldn’t work, though. If you knew there was another conversation to come - separated by an inconvenient amount of time - the existing conversations wouldn’t hold as much value. You wouldn’t say so much or hug so tightly because there will always be at least one more. Finality drives meaning and meaning drives life, and life should give you something to talk about. Now. While we’re all still here.
What I should have said, what would have been more accurate, was “I wish this meant she’d have someone to talk to now. It might not be so lonely while she’s waiting for me,” but that’s cold and dark and maybe just a few minutes out of the many it’s to the benefit of the psyche to suspend processing of reality in your head. Just to get through this. There’s the rest of time to live with realism, and lord knows it is a lesson that will be taught frequently - no matter how much you already understand it. So just for a few seconds before I plunge back into reality and face another day, I’ll waste this next moment:
I’ll see you again. We’ll talk. Oh, the stories I’ll have to tell. You’ll be so proud.