Death
No one truly dies until the last echoes of one's existence, the last ripples of the lives one touched fade away. And that is a long time for anyone.
My nieces lost a grandfather over christmas. He died suddenly with little warning. My sister waited to tell them until after the holiday in order not to ruin it for them. Truth be told she could barely do it. She almost broke down crying trying to explain it to them. My nieces cried. Well, November did. Angel tried to play it cool and avoid the subject as long as possible. Until she woke up from a nightmare about the whole thing this morning.
She came downstairs to me for comfort. Quietly, she snuggled in next to me on the chair, stole my blanket, and rested her head on my shoulder. I was in my usual state of withdrawal from the world so it took a moment for me to realize she was upset. At first, she was so distraught that she couldn't get the words out, so I told her she didn't need to say anything and she could just relax until she felt better.
When she was finally able to tell her nightmare, she amazed me with the depth of her dreaming. She dreamt she walked into a room carrying a candle and in the room her grandfather was there all frozen like a popsicle. She placed the candle down in front of him and he dethawed. He threw her out of the house and "messed everything up."
I comforted her the only way I knew how. First I told her what her dream meant, that she was finally coming to grips with his death and with death itself. The Candle was knowledge or understanding and it dethawed her denial/inability to understand what happened and now things were all messed up for her. Obviously this was mostly wasted on a seven year old, but other than reciting all the stupid platitudes she has heard before I had nothing else to offer her. I told her, quite honestly, that I wish my dreams were as nice as her nightmares.
My whole family fears death and kind of hangs on to the hope that they will be the one to live forever. I am by no means fearless but I know and accept I will die and that those I love might die at any moment. I used to make myself imagine holding Angel in my arms dying or walking up to Floyd's casket to say my goodbyes. In my darker hours, these were happy thoughts compared to what was racking my brain. Right now I can sit and imagine all those people in Sri Lanka dead. As far as the eye can see bodies slow rotting in the sun, bloated from drowning. Men, women, infants, all being mourned by those that loved them so dearly in this life. Their cries filling my head till it wants to break from the sorrow.
I don't mean to get all gothy but this is what I think about for some portion of the day. Death seems like a nice release from living in this screwed up world. Death is inevitable. Death is a necessary part of life. I will miss my family if they go and I might shed tears but I honestly don't know.
When I was in Iraq, around September we had this really good guy put into our company straight out of training. He joined the Army because he believed and held himself to the loftier Ideals that out Country supposed to stand for. About October, his wife gave birth to twins boys while he was fixing engines in Tal Afar. Sullivan was the kinda guy that anyone and everyone could get along with. About 11pm on November 15th, his Blackhawk crashed into another in the streets of Mozul killing all 15 people aboard both. Him and this dumbass(but well meaning) LT that was our former company XO. They tell us this at first formation on the 16th, my birthday, and the whole company breaks down. People I didn't expect to cry were sobbing into each others arms. I could do nothing but watch idly as everyone mourned our friend. No tears, sorrow not for me but for his family back home and sons that will never know their father, just a bit of joy that it was quick for them and that he has children to carry on for him. No tears when it almost seemed that there was to be another great flood from all that was wept.
Maybe my problem is that I jaded myself with overloads of sorrow, or maybe my view that physical death is not a complete end makes me different, or maybe I am just a cold heartless bastard who won't cry for anyone but himself. Maybe my faith, which clings to my filthy little, broken down, worn out, see-through soul like a chinchilla in the wind, gives me the only peace I know in this world. The pain of this life will end eventually.
No one truly dies until the last echoes of one's existence, the last ripples of the lives one touched fade away. And that is a long time for anyone. So live your life touching lives, creating Hope and Joy, so that your name and your life are waves in the ocean, ceaseless as the tide.
My nieces lost a grandfather over christmas. He died suddenly with little warning. My sister waited to tell them until after the holiday in order not to ruin it for them. Truth be told she could barely do it. She almost broke down crying trying to explain it to them. My nieces cried. Well, November did. Angel tried to play it cool and avoid the subject as long as possible. Until she woke up from a nightmare about the whole thing this morning.
She came downstairs to me for comfort. Quietly, she snuggled in next to me on the chair, stole my blanket, and rested her head on my shoulder. I was in my usual state of withdrawal from the world so it took a moment for me to realize she was upset. At first, she was so distraught that she couldn't get the words out, so I told her she didn't need to say anything and she could just relax until she felt better.
When she was finally able to tell her nightmare, she amazed me with the depth of her dreaming. She dreamt she walked into a room carrying a candle and in the room her grandfather was there all frozen like a popsicle. She placed the candle down in front of him and he dethawed. He threw her out of the house and "messed everything up."
I comforted her the only way I knew how. First I told her what her dream meant, that she was finally coming to grips with his death and with death itself. The Candle was knowledge or understanding and it dethawed her denial/inability to understand what happened and now things were all messed up for her. Obviously this was mostly wasted on a seven year old, but other than reciting all the stupid platitudes she has heard before I had nothing else to offer her. I told her, quite honestly, that I wish my dreams were as nice as her nightmares.
My whole family fears death and kind of hangs on to the hope that they will be the one to live forever. I am by no means fearless but I know and accept I will die and that those I love might die at any moment. I used to make myself imagine holding Angel in my arms dying or walking up to Floyd's casket to say my goodbyes. In my darker hours, these were happy thoughts compared to what was racking my brain. Right now I can sit and imagine all those people in Sri Lanka dead. As far as the eye can see bodies slow rotting in the sun, bloated from drowning. Men, women, infants, all being mourned by those that loved them so dearly in this life. Their cries filling my head till it wants to break from the sorrow.
I don't mean to get all gothy but this is what I think about for some portion of the day. Death seems like a nice release from living in this screwed up world. Death is inevitable. Death is a necessary part of life. I will miss my family if they go and I might shed tears but I honestly don't know.
When I was in Iraq, around September we had this really good guy put into our company straight out of training. He joined the Army because he believed and held himself to the loftier Ideals that out Country supposed to stand for. About October, his wife gave birth to twins boys while he was fixing engines in Tal Afar. Sullivan was the kinda guy that anyone and everyone could get along with. About 11pm on November 15th, his Blackhawk crashed into another in the streets of Mozul killing all 15 people aboard both. Him and this dumbass(but well meaning) LT that was our former company XO. They tell us this at first formation on the 16th, my birthday, and the whole company breaks down. People I didn't expect to cry were sobbing into each others arms. I could do nothing but watch idly as everyone mourned our friend. No tears, sorrow not for me but for his family back home and sons that will never know their father, just a bit of joy that it was quick for them and that he has children to carry on for him. No tears when it almost seemed that there was to be another great flood from all that was wept.
Maybe my problem is that I jaded myself with overloads of sorrow, or maybe my view that physical death is not a complete end makes me different, or maybe I am just a cold heartless bastard who won't cry for anyone but himself. Maybe my faith, which clings to my filthy little, broken down, worn out, see-through soul like a chinchilla in the wind, gives me the only peace I know in this world. The pain of this life will end eventually.
No one truly dies until the last echoes of one's existence, the last ripples of the lives one touched fade away. And that is a long time for anyone. So live your life touching lives, creating Hope and Joy, so that your name and your life are waves in the ocean, ceaseless as the tide.