We'll see who stabs who.
I have meant to tell a Louise story at some point because it was one of the topics requested, and I started writing one tonight, but I realized midway through that it wasn't the story I wanted to tell because, well. It's a recap of what happened at her 40th day memorial. It was in its own way lovely, and had a bunch of moments where we told stories and everybody did that thing where you laughed because the alternative was crying. But it was also making me really fucking sad.
And the more I thought abut it, the more I thought, "Why are you making yourself sad writing about her death, dingus?" So I stopped. Life is short enough as it is. But I spent so much time this evening trying to write it, it feels wasteful to just delete it. So here is part of it, mostly removed from context.
This is basically what I am talking about.
The gist of it, or how it was explained to me at least, is that for the past forty days after death, the soul just boogies around and has fun for a while, visiting places and people that it was familiar with and loved. It's like an extended spring break, or something.
(In some situations, the soul apparently hasn't quite worked out that it's dead, and you're supposed to keep leaving out a place setting for it along with food, or talking to the person as thought they were still alive so you don't throw the soul off its routines and such. I'm not entirely sure what happens if you do throw the soul off or if it gets upset about being dead; presumably it can't die again, right? My hypothesis is that it gets ticked off and resorts to poltergeist/ghost behavior and wings shit at your head, or something. Or maybe it mopes. No one like a mopey soul.)
At the end of the forty days, the soul heads on back to the grave, which, having previously been heaped up with dirt from the burial, is now leveled. After that, I suppose it just peaces out on up to heaven, or wherever souls go after they're bored with their usual hang out spots. And everyone else says a special blessing which includes a line of Bulgarian I have no hope of accurately translating, in part because Louise's mother announced it does not have a translation. Basically, the closest she could do for me was that it works out to something like, "let us all be grateful that we have ______", where the ______ means something sort of like God's love and forgiveness and the possibility of… something.
I like all of that, actually. I like the idea of Louise zipping around and being able to perpetuate even more mayhem than usual in soul form, or do things like look in on her ex-boyfriends in the shower and laugh at their junk. (This would be a normal Louise routine; I see no reason why her soul would forgo it.) I like the idea of talking to Louise like she's still here; I've done it quite a lot over the past forty days. It feels normal, though I generally don't talk out loud to myself.
Louise talked out loud to herself constantly. I actually kind of miss it, because even though it provoked endless cycles of me going "What?" and her going "Huh? Oh, I was just talking to myself," it was like comforting background noise. I was going to compare it to the ocean, but it's actually much more like my washing machine, which is located in the basement and churns fairly steadily in a low, audible roar, but every now and then, it randomly freaks the fuck out, emits these… bellows of mechanical rage, and I can actually feel it shaking the house all the way up in my bedroom, three floors away. Louise and possibly evil and sentient appliances go hand in hand.
Anyway, so I don't usually talk to myself, so back when I teleworked more often, there've been days where if no one calls on the phone, I go all day, or sometimes a couple days without saying a damn word. (Unless it's hockey season, in which case I will yell at the television regardless of whether or not the house is empty or not.)
But now, it's kinda entertaining. I like pretending I have someone to keep my company on my long drive back and forth to work each day, So, yeah, talking to the dead person like they're still there to ease the soul into the whole death thing; that's a thing. I like it. It's probably not entirely healthy, but what part of coping with grief is?
And I even like that the whole concept of everything we're trying to do here is rooted in something untranslatable. It appeals to the part of me that thinks something happens after we die, but we don't know what and we probably are incapable of understanding or comprehending it while alive. Like going to the next level or whatever, like suddenly having a bunch of whole new senses.
Anyway, after everyone has the blessing, and you stumble all over a cemetery trying to leave flowers and firecrackers on the most appropriate grave, the rest of the afternoon is devoted to eating and talking about the person. You also eat this special ceremonial dish made of boiled wheat, with nuts and lemon zest and spices and powdered sugar added to it. It looks like gravel, and has a texture kinda like couscous, and it's also meaningful in that the wheat is supposed to represent, like, the body of Christ and communion, and therefore ties in nicely with a resurrection and life/death theme.
It is also tasty, which is a bonus.
The food is all the favorite dishes of the deceased person. Her mom had also bought fresh strawberries from a farm somewhere out here. I'm not sure I ever took Louise strawberry picking. Louise's mom went all out; she had everything, including Louise's favorite pork dish, which reminded me of the time she made us pork roast and sauerkraut and wrecked the hell out of my roasting pan with her carving knife, cutting it up. I was pissy about that; I wish I hadn't been. And the next morning, I came downstairs at six thirty to get breakfast, and found her eating cold pork and sauerkraut and washing it down with Mountain Dew, and I couldn't even watch. It was horrifying. I'm pretty sure I told her she was a barbarian, and she flipped me off, and I had to eat my own breakfast upstairs in my office to avoid the sight.
...and this is where I decided to stop making myself sad. So when I tell this story, it ends here.
I also have All The Thoughts on the first EPIX episode of Road to the Winter Classic, but since I never start writing these entries until 11:30 pm, it'll have to wait for another entry.
And the more I thought abut it, the more I thought, "Why are you making yourself sad writing about her death, dingus?" So I stopped. Life is short enough as it is. But I spent so much time this evening trying to write it, it feels wasteful to just delete it. So here is part of it, mostly removed from context.
This is basically what I am talking about.
The gist of it, or how it was explained to me at least, is that for the past forty days after death, the soul just boogies around and has fun for a while, visiting places and people that it was familiar with and loved. It's like an extended spring break, or something.
(In some situations, the soul apparently hasn't quite worked out that it's dead, and you're supposed to keep leaving out a place setting for it along with food, or talking to the person as thought they were still alive so you don't throw the soul off its routines and such. I'm not entirely sure what happens if you do throw the soul off or if it gets upset about being dead; presumably it can't die again, right? My hypothesis is that it gets ticked off and resorts to poltergeist/ghost behavior and wings shit at your head, or something. Or maybe it mopes. No one like a mopey soul.)
At the end of the forty days, the soul heads on back to the grave, which, having previously been heaped up with dirt from the burial, is now leveled. After that, I suppose it just peaces out on up to heaven, or wherever souls go after they're bored with their usual hang out spots. And everyone else says a special blessing which includes a line of Bulgarian I have no hope of accurately translating, in part because Louise's mother announced it does not have a translation. Basically, the closest she could do for me was that it works out to something like, "let us all be grateful that we have ______", where the ______ means something sort of like God's love and forgiveness and the possibility of… something.
I like all of that, actually. I like the idea of Louise zipping around and being able to perpetuate even more mayhem than usual in soul form, or do things like look in on her ex-boyfriends in the shower and laugh at their junk. (This would be a normal Louise routine; I see no reason why her soul would forgo it.) I like the idea of talking to Louise like she's still here; I've done it quite a lot over the past forty days. It feels normal, though I generally don't talk out loud to myself.
Louise talked out loud to herself constantly. I actually kind of miss it, because even though it provoked endless cycles of me going "What?" and her going "Huh? Oh, I was just talking to myself," it was like comforting background noise. I was going to compare it to the ocean, but it's actually much more like my washing machine, which is located in the basement and churns fairly steadily in a low, audible roar, but every now and then, it randomly freaks the fuck out, emits these… bellows of mechanical rage, and I can actually feel it shaking the house all the way up in my bedroom, three floors away. Louise and possibly evil and sentient appliances go hand in hand.
Anyway, so I don't usually talk to myself, so back when I teleworked more often, there've been days where if no one calls on the phone, I go all day, or sometimes a couple days without saying a damn word. (Unless it's hockey season, in which case I will yell at the television regardless of whether or not the house is empty or not.)
But now, it's kinda entertaining. I like pretending I have someone to keep my company on my long drive back and forth to work each day, So, yeah, talking to the dead person like they're still there to ease the soul into the whole death thing; that's a thing. I like it. It's probably not entirely healthy, but what part of coping with grief is?
And I even like that the whole concept of everything we're trying to do here is rooted in something untranslatable. It appeals to the part of me that thinks something happens after we die, but we don't know what and we probably are incapable of understanding or comprehending it while alive. Like going to the next level or whatever, like suddenly having a bunch of whole new senses.
Anyway, after everyone has the blessing, and you stumble all over a cemetery trying to leave flowers and firecrackers on the most appropriate grave, the rest of the afternoon is devoted to eating and talking about the person. You also eat this special ceremonial dish made of boiled wheat, with nuts and lemon zest and spices and powdered sugar added to it. It looks like gravel, and has a texture kinda like couscous, and it's also meaningful in that the wheat is supposed to represent, like, the body of Christ and communion, and therefore ties in nicely with a resurrection and life/death theme.
It is also tasty, which is a bonus.
The food is all the favorite dishes of the deceased person. Her mom had also bought fresh strawberries from a farm somewhere out here. I'm not sure I ever took Louise strawberry picking. Louise's mom went all out; she had everything, including Louise's favorite pork dish, which reminded me of the time she made us pork roast and sauerkraut and wrecked the hell out of my roasting pan with her carving knife, cutting it up. I was pissy about that; I wish I hadn't been. And the next morning, I came downstairs at six thirty to get breakfast, and found her eating cold pork and sauerkraut and washing it down with Mountain Dew, and I couldn't even watch. It was horrifying. I'm pretty sure I told her she was a barbarian, and she flipped me off, and I had to eat my own breakfast upstairs in my office to avoid the sight.
...and this is where I decided to stop making myself sad. So when I tell this story, it ends here.
I also have All The Thoughts on the first EPIX episode of Road to the Winter Classic, but since I never start writing these entries until 11:30 pm, it'll have to wait for another entry.