Some Not-so-Terribly Depressing Musings on Death

 

Are they dead to you?

Some people still don't know that my parents are dead.  I have access to my father's email and there are people who still email him to check in, usually old friends, but sometimes it's an old colleague.  Most of the time, I send them an e-mail from my own account to inform them of his passing (because sending an email from my father's email account to alert someone of his passing is just creepy).

Before I do this though, I take a deep breath and a pause

In someone else's head, my parents are still alive.   This gives me a very small amount of joy.  Maybe they are imagining what my parents are up to.  Are they playing golf?   Enjoying time by the pool?  Playing bridge? They are certainly not imagining the dismal reality that they are sitting on my piano, in an urn, as dust and ash.

When I think of this reality of the uninformed, I don't want to break the news to them.   I want them to keep imagining my parents alive.   I want them to keep imagining my parents doing the things they enjoyed doing.

Isn't that nicer than being dust?

This also makes me realize that there are people who I probably think of from time to time who are no longer alive, and I'm okay with that.   Please don't tell me that they are dead.   I'd prefer them to have a long life in my head.

I am curious how others feel about this.   If you have lost a loved one, does it give you comfort to know that there is almost certainly someone in this world who doesn't know that they're gone?   Who imagines them from time to time doing whatever it was they enjoyed doing?

On being an orphan

Almost as soon as my father died, I had the thought, "So now I'm an orphan."   It's a strange thought to have when you are 54 years old, but nevertheless I did.   I think about the fact that I'm an orphan more than I thought I would.   I completely realize that I am so fortunate that both my parents were alive until I was 54.  Not everyone gets that.  

The thing is that your parents are your parents no matter how old, cranky, creaky, or crazy they are.  They are this kind of buffer between you and the world, and when they are gone, you suddenly feel untethered.

Sometimes when I'm having a particularly hard day, after a particularly difficult year, I want to call my parents.   I want to call them and say, "Hey, my parents died and I feel all alone in the world."   But they can't answer my call.   And it makes it all worse.

Oh,  I know what they'd say.   My dad would say, "Sorry D.  I wish I could make it better" and my mom would tell me that I need to get up and exercise (can't say that I miss that advice) but somehow, now that she's gone, I do go outside, and take a walk and it does make me feel a little better.

There will never be people who care like your parents.  Who care about your day.   Who care about the days of your children. Who care if something tremendous, or something awful, happened to you.   Who actually read and enjoy your blog ;) 

No one but your parents will hate people who were mean to you, or love people who showed you extraordinary kindness.   They don't even have to meet them, your word is enough.

When that is gone there is a void that no one can ever fill.

And you are an orphan.   It doesn't matter if you're 54.

Immortality

I was recently reminded of a book I read a very long time ago called "Immortality" by the Czech author Milan Kundera.  The basic thesis of this book is that most people live their lives as if they are never going to die.   We leave things in our wake (not at our wake), for others to find, or deal with, that we probably should have disposed of before our demise.    For example, people leave love letters to secret lovers in unlocked desk drawers for spouses to (yikes!) find after their departure from this earth.    Or, spouses may leave love letters to each other, for their children to (gasp!) find and be horrified to read.  People leave much unfinished business in this world in a refusal to admit the inevitable.

No one has yet to escape the inevitable.

Immortality can exist on other planes though.     

There might just be someone out there who keeps thinking of you alive -

Playing golf.

Playing tennis.

Riding your bike.

Eating your favorite meal.

Playing with your kids.

Smiling.

Or simply writing a blog.

On this particular plane,

No one is a widow.

No one has lost a child.

No one is an orphan.

We can be immortal for a while.

Isn't that lovely?