For some reason in these blogs I always take asides to tell my life story. It’s purely incidental, I swear. I mean, things happen in real life that I want to share with you, but I feel that sometimes you need a little more background about the inner workings of my mind that may have failed to present themselves in earlier interactions. Lucky for all of you, given nearly any pair of dichotomies I can tell my life story. This will be a [hopefully abridged] version. The contrasts at hand? Life and death.
When I was little a lot of things used to make me uncomfortable. Any visible problem with my food. Not being afraid of things that most other people are [I mentally created a monster in my closet that still lives there until this day just to fit in]. Potential for getting in trouble. Malicious gossip. Not being able to cry at appropriate times. Consoling crying people. Sick old people. Going places alone… and well, that’s probably the only one I’ve outgrown. Surprisingly death was never really on that list. Death neither scared me nor made me uncomfortable. In fact, though it has defined my life more than birth, I have never consciously dwelt on it and yet it has shaped everything.
When I was in either Kindergarten or first grade [the classrooms were right next door to each other, give me a break! ;)] I remember going in the hall to cry and my best friend, Brittany, came out to console me. I was crying because something has happened to my grandfather and he was sick, dying, in the hospital. To this day I still don’t know what the original problem was, only that the doctors fixed it, then more shit went wrong and he had an aneurysm and it was suspected that he’d never talk or walk again. And… he made a full recovery. But he couldn’t stand cold weather any more so out of DC we went to Texas near my grandmother’s sister who had breast cancer and was too dying.
There are four funerals/wakes I recall attending. The first was Mrs. Jones, one of my neighbors in DC. I was really little and she was always really nice and I went to her wake with my mom. The second was the funeral of my great-aunt for whom we moved to Texas and I had become close with due to our frequent visits to her house. The other two were two other brothers of my grandmother at whose funerals I felt incredibly awkward and self-conscious because though I understood the loss I felt I didn’t know them well enough to cry and though I tried, I was just an awkward little kid and failed miserably.
That said, between ages nine and eighteen, with one exception, no one I knew died, and as I’ve recounted very people in my life before that had died. And since eighteen, still no one really has died. Accordingly, I have developed and nurtured a bizarre-ish relationship with death, and subsequently sickness.
Sickness. For most of my life that I can recall, I have not been close to people (at least not in physical/geographical proximity) who are ill or diseased or impaired by age. Being around people suffering from ‘side-effects’ of being old makes me really uncomfortable. Especially if only for brief periods of time. It’s way more unsettling to see and immediately leave than to see and interact. Being around particularly old people is also uncomfortable because though yes I grew up with grandparents they are both in very good health, thankfully. There was a woman in Azrou who came to visit my host mother than made me VERY uncomfortable. She was in age between my host grandmother and mother and she was in way worse condition than either. She was weak, small, she couldn’t even speak with the full power of a voice. She made me want to leave the room. She wasn’t visibly ill but if ever I have seen a picture of someone about to expire, she was it, and I have never seen, or ever really heard of, someone merely dying from ‘old age’ and not a miscellaneous illness of some kind.
Concerning my own death, I have created my own little folklore that I rather enjoy recanting, mostly because I think most people regard the general idea as slightly morbid and yet I find my tale to be highly comforting for myself, ha. I cannot die until I am diagnosed with cancer AND I will die of something completely unrelated. Ideally, I will be one of those mystery people who dies peacefully in her sleep without feeling anything [while NOT being in a coma, think “The Notebook” sans dementia]. I don’t fear my own death. I mean, if you had such conditions you probably wouldn’t fear it either. I fear the death of the people I love.
Eighteen. It was the superbowl, freshman year of college. I was eating Joy Yee’s with Leila and Elsa in Elsa’s room on NUTV streaming online. Halftime I decided to check my myspace. Bulletin message “Read this if you know Kelli Herd.” Kelli was a girl who I met freshman year of high school, whose life, her physical living, I was more invested in than most of my friends. A true sweetheart. Killed instantly in a car crash. Hit head on by a drunk driver. The underlying reason I never ate Joy Yee’s again, or have since watched the Super Bowl. Super Bowl Sunday has become nearly a day of solitude. I think Kelli actually died on February 6, but for me, it’s always on the super bowl that I feel it the most, that I remember. Her death hit me harder than anyone else’s ever has, and though it was nearly four years ago, I am by no means over it.
IF there was an upside it was that some relationships in my life were made closer. Elsa was not my roommate at the time but she lent me her room and slept in the hall suite while Alexander kept me company while I cried the entire night. And as is no secret that both of them are two of my best friends.
I want to die young. Before everyone I would hate to live without. Selfish? I prefer ‘honest.’ I feel ill prepared to deal with the loss of nearly any more of my close friends or family. Though this being my number one fear in life (foolish to have a fear that is inevitable? perhaps.), this hasn’t stopped me from making or seeking out new friends. I love people! They give me my greatest joy. If I thought more about my thoughts I would be [too] confused.
Life. I feel like I have lived in some weird state of equilibrium where, for the most part, very few people have been born or died. Yes, I have known many people but mostly because I stumbled into their realm versus them being born into my life, save two notable exceptions. My brother is exception number one, yes, I have sisters but they were more or less expected. Weston came during the winter of my sophomore year of high school and well, he’s wonderful. He had the potential to be an awful pain in the ass but he exceeded all expectations by being the most well behaved child I’ve ever encountered, instilling in me a hope that not children are awful.
The second birth that seriously impacted my life was that of Aidan, the son of one of my best friend’s from childhood, Katie, who was born this year. Though I have had a few friends/acquaintances get married and some have children, or vice-versa, Katie’s son was by far the most special to me, because she was the most special to me of the lot. Seeing the features of a girl I have known since I was eight on this brand new creature who is about to experience so much more than he can imagine and anyone can really know was incredible. Truly awe inspiring. Aidan forced me into the realization that, though most of my life elders told my generation that the future lie with us and change and growth, good and bad, all was upon our shoulders, the time is now. The destiny that belongs to my generation has begun. (I know, I know, I’m kind of slow.) It is my generation that are becoming parents and coming into power. It is our turn, and in fact my turn among them, to Do something. Aidan IS a beautiful child and what he represents to me is equally beautiful. He is a truth. A turning point in time. And I’m glad it was a positive announcement.
So why was my mind so suddenly turned to such grave matters as the circle of life? Tragedy, of course. Myself given very few details, this week I learned via official text [and later through emails that said little more] a volunteer in Morocco died unexpectedly of an illness in a hospital in Marrakech. WHAT? Yes. Those are all the details I know, well, that and that one of the staff doctors was by her side. WHAT? I could DIE(?)… HERE? Well, truthfully, I could die anywhere. What? The life insurance form I had to sign might be needed? Well, I guess it was responsible to actually sign it. What? I might actually die young? One could be so lucky. What? What the fuck does it mean to die unexpectedly? What was WRONG with her?? Can this/that happen to me?? Nearly anything can happen.
Thus began the contemplation of my own mortality. And though I do not intend to get diagnosed with cancer while in service here I realize, like most myths, the folklore I have created surrounding my own death holds little water, and though a mere 22 I am not invincible, despite some of the risks I take. Yes, it is hard to thrill me. Yes, I found skydiving peaceful, not exhilarating. No, I do not believe in the afterlife despite all the religious specifications I can tell you about it (personally, I think heaven is an idea to comfort those afraid of death and to console away the loss of a loved one and that hell is an idea to scare people into submission). No, I really don’t fear my own death, I know it’s coming (hey, I am the girl that says, well said, “each second we lives brings us one second closer to death) but somehow the closeness of the death of this stranger to me bore with it an unnerving sense of uncertainty and self-reflection like I have not experienced.
Maybe I should learn to take more in joy things that I do and see. Or maybe I should reevaluate how I experience joy. Or maybe I should stop comparing how I experience emotions against the visible responses of others. Maybe I should just appreciate my own appreciation. Maybe I should care less about trivial matters. Maybe I should find what I really love and grasp it. Maybe I should stop being scared and simply say what I want. Maybe, though I am young and want to be young forever… maybe, just maybe, I should take this time to grow up and fully embrace everything this world has to offer me—because if I get what I theoretically want, maybe I might not have as much time as I think. Or maybe, if I don’t get everything that I want it would behoove me to make the most of what I have while time still exists.
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