On the Fence
Today, Judy Shepard (the mother of Mathew Shepard) spoke at Oakland University. I attended. It made me wish that I could cry, but that's something that I haven't been able to do for a long time.
As she kept speaking, I couldn't help but see my mother up there -- delivering that same speech but in her own words. I couldn't help but see my mother mourning for me, though secretly, and trying to rectify it through using her natural speaking talents in an attempt to change the world in some small way. I couldn't help but see my mother up there when Judy Shepard teared up a bit. I frequently die in my dreams at night, but never in those dreams do I see the full repurcussions of my death. Sure, they're pretty easy to imagine -- the mourning that people would go through -- but in listening to and watching Judy Shepard I saw the kind of mourning I knew full well my mother would resort to. It was scary not because it made me think of my own mortality, but of the pain that it might actually cause.
That pain would have nothing to do with who I am as a person as much as it would have to do with me simply being her son. My mother and I went through a period of animosity over my sexuality, but all in all though I've tried to deny it so many times and play the tough guy -- I love my mother a lot. And the thought of me putting her through mourning tears me up inside, not just because she's my mother, but because no person should have to go through that. Judy Shepard should not have to go through that.
And then I thought about my father, and I wondered the kind of mourning he would do. I know he would be less verbal. I know there would be a sick sense of irony in it, as my father lost his father when he was young. He had survived the man who bore him, how sick would it be to survive the child he bore himself. My father in many ways like me, he doesn't readily admit what he is feeling but he can't control his eyes. Just one look and you can catch a glimpse of what is in their recesses.
It is strange though, my only fear of death stems from the idea of burdening people. I think in seeing someone who clearly holds family so dear it is hard for one who has a surviving family to not suddenly feel the need to pull those familial bonds closer. I found myself really wanting to talk to my parents after leaving Mrs. Shepard's lecture. I found myself really silent and contemplative, too.
As she kept speaking, I couldn't help but see my mother up there -- delivering that same speech but in her own words. I couldn't help but see my mother mourning for me, though secretly, and trying to rectify it through using her natural speaking talents in an attempt to change the world in some small way. I couldn't help but see my mother up there when Judy Shepard teared up a bit. I frequently die in my dreams at night, but never in those dreams do I see the full repurcussions of my death. Sure, they're pretty easy to imagine -- the mourning that people would go through -- but in listening to and watching Judy Shepard I saw the kind of mourning I knew full well my mother would resort to. It was scary not because it made me think of my own mortality, but of the pain that it might actually cause.
That pain would have nothing to do with who I am as a person as much as it would have to do with me simply being her son. My mother and I went through a period of animosity over my sexuality, but all in all though I've tried to deny it so many times and play the tough guy -- I love my mother a lot. And the thought of me putting her through mourning tears me up inside, not just because she's my mother, but because no person should have to go through that. Judy Shepard should not have to go through that.
And then I thought about my father, and I wondered the kind of mourning he would do. I know he would be less verbal. I know there would be a sick sense of irony in it, as my father lost his father when he was young. He had survived the man who bore him, how sick would it be to survive the child he bore himself. My father in many ways like me, he doesn't readily admit what he is feeling but he can't control his eyes. Just one look and you can catch a glimpse of what is in their recesses.
It is strange though, my only fear of death stems from the idea of burdening people. I think in seeing someone who clearly holds family so dear it is hard for one who has a surviving family to not suddenly feel the need to pull those familial bonds closer. I found myself really wanting to talk to my parents after leaving Mrs. Shepard's lecture. I found myself really silent and contemplative, too.