Dear Ajé:
I was doing the dishes this morning and my thoughts were spinning around in my head regarding how people don’t listen. Even when they ask a question people rarely wait for a complete response because they’ve already chosen their own response. There are times when I do feel like people are in tune with me, but it seems that when I really just need someone to hear me out all anyone wants to do is tell me their interpretation of my thoughts. I appreciate the gesture, but not letting me have my own thoughts/feelings makes me feel like my thoughts/feelings aren’t valid.
This got my mind on a roll and I started thinking about how at some point in time it is a possibility that I would kill myself. I’m not suicidal, and I’m not in any hurry to die, but if nothing else kills me first I think it’s possible that I will just get bored one day and the next realm will seem like a good journey. It got me wondering what I would say in the letter I would leave behind, to help people understand the way I think and why things will be okay. I was concerned that the religious people in my life wouldn’t get it so I tried to explore how I would explain it for them. I think if the Christian God is an omnipotent being that he would have known long before any of us existed every single step that we would take. Not so much in a way that God created our fate, but more like he was the only person who got to watch the movie of Life before it was made. Which means that all people who have committed suicide were given life even though God knew that they would end it by their own hands. And if there’s a pre-existence all of those people would have known what they would have to sacrifice in order to have this experience in an earthly body, including the sacrifice of that body itself.
These bodies are simply hosts and our energy is the parasite within.
Love,
Yourself
Friday, August 20, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Death of a Farmer
Dear Ajé:
My grandfather died a few days ago. There is a part of me that is sad his journey has ended, but I am more apathetic than anything. I feel that I am the only member of my family who was prepared for his death. This bothers me because it makes me feel even more distant from them. I am trying to determine why I care if I am different, but I still do not know the answer to that question. Which is fine. Perhaps it is the wrong question to be asking.
I don’t believe in funerals. I can empathize with those who do, I believe that I understand the concept behind them. I get the need for closure. I do. But I have more-or-less been preparing myself for the end of this life since it began. I wrote my first will when I was 14. I still have it glued to the inside of my journal. It describes how I want my body to be prepared down to the underwear and nail polish. I have my pall bearers picked out, as well as people whom I had chosen to sing and/or speak. It was written on a yellow piece of notebook paper with blue lines. I wanted to wear the cream Victorian dress my aunt Candy had given me; the same dress I wanted to be married in.
Anyway, my gramps was a good man, from what I could tell. He’s been relatively the same for as long as I can remember. He had grey hair, which he kept long on one side so he could comb it over to cover the bald spot. He made fruit cake every year for Christmas, waking up early so that he could prepare it all in one morning. I’ve never met anyone in my life who liked fruit cake, but Grandpa made it anyway. He lived on the same plot of land for all his life, at least as far as I know. First in the house next to mine that was built by my great grandfather, and later in the house he built for himself and my grandmother. He worked his farm and that provided them with enough to care for themselves, their children, and the rest of their lives. It’s beautiful really, when you think about it. For my entire life he raised cattle which he would purchase at auctions. I vaguely remember a time when he had pigs as well, but it was a long time ago.
Even though I loved my grandpa, I am not at all surprised that he died. He was eighty-five years old, had some form of cancer (pancreatic or prostate or something) and he had a pace maker. All three of these things say to me, ‘prepare yourself for the inevitable’. His pace maker was malfunctioning and to fix it they had to knock him out and do a minor surgical-type procedure. The anesthesia resulted in an immediate onset of advanced Alzheimer’s. Which sucks and in all reality could have been avoided if he hadn’t relied so heavily on advanced technology. Technology gave him a false heart when his real heart had decided that it was time to move on, and it also helped the people in his life delude themselves into thinking that he was invincible.
The death of an 85 year old man with a false heart should never come as a shock to anyone.
The problem I am facing is that I feel a bit cold hearted at the moment. Not because I actually view myself as cold-hearted, but because I think there are people who come into my life from time to time that see the world differently than myself, and because of this my viewpoint seems quite cold. I am aware that my personal beliefs may in fact leave me helpless and alone at some point in time. But no one owes me a thing, and I don’t owe anything to anyone. There is a part of me that wants to be there to console my family members who have been surprised by my grandpas passing, but I truly believe that I will not be a comfort to them. I cannot tell them that he “has gone to a better place” I cannot say that he is “no longer in pain” or “with god”. I also cannot say that I am shocked. I am sorry for my grandma because she has lost her best friend of many decades. But I am sad for her the same way I am sad for someone who’s best friend moves away. That is how I view death. It’s just a move to a place that doesn’t permit you to call or write the people you love.
This is why I hate funerals. People get so weird at them. I want to let people grieve however it is they need to grieve, but not if it is at my expense. I still remember being ‘kicked out’ of a funeral the summer after 8th grade because Vicki’s friends didn’t like me. They even tried to kick my ass the following Autumn, but I was tipped off so I avoided them. The time Mikayla killed herself and her father wouldn’t let Robert in because he didn’t like him. I was especially irritated at my dad’s funeral when Stephanie asked if it was okay with me that she was there. I get that funeral’s are supposed to be for those who are grieving -a way to find closure- but they are also for the deceased. No one who loved or was loved by the person who died should be denied the opportunity to attend the funeral (if one is taking place.) And no one should have to provide explanation for attending/missing said funeral. We all grieve in our way and no one’s grief can be measured against another’s.
I’m not even sure what I’m trying to rant about here. Nothing even really happened except for that I’m the only one not surprised by this death, and I am fearing that now that my family knows how to reach me, they will bother me once they notice I don’t show for the funeral. But death is a part of life, and I am fully aware everyone that I love will die. And if they go out at 85, I’ll consider it a life over-lived, not one that was taken too soon. This goes for me as well.
Love,
Yourself
My grandfather died a few days ago. There is a part of me that is sad his journey has ended, but I am more apathetic than anything. I feel that I am the only member of my family who was prepared for his death. This bothers me because it makes me feel even more distant from them. I am trying to determine why I care if I am different, but I still do not know the answer to that question. Which is fine. Perhaps it is the wrong question to be asking.
I don’t believe in funerals. I can empathize with those who do, I believe that I understand the concept behind them. I get the need for closure. I do. But I have more-or-less been preparing myself for the end of this life since it began. I wrote my first will when I was 14. I still have it glued to the inside of my journal. It describes how I want my body to be prepared down to the underwear and nail polish. I have my pall bearers picked out, as well as people whom I had chosen to sing and/or speak. It was written on a yellow piece of notebook paper with blue lines. I wanted to wear the cream Victorian dress my aunt Candy had given me; the same dress I wanted to be married in.
Anyway, my gramps was a good man, from what I could tell. He’s been relatively the same for as long as I can remember. He had grey hair, which he kept long on one side so he could comb it over to cover the bald spot. He made fruit cake every year for Christmas, waking up early so that he could prepare it all in one morning. I’ve never met anyone in my life who liked fruit cake, but Grandpa made it anyway. He lived on the same plot of land for all his life, at least as far as I know. First in the house next to mine that was built by my great grandfather, and later in the house he built for himself and my grandmother. He worked his farm and that provided them with enough to care for themselves, their children, and the rest of their lives. It’s beautiful really, when you think about it. For my entire life he raised cattle which he would purchase at auctions. I vaguely remember a time when he had pigs as well, but it was a long time ago.
Even though I loved my grandpa, I am not at all surprised that he died. He was eighty-five years old, had some form of cancer (pancreatic or prostate or something) and he had a pace maker. All three of these things say to me, ‘prepare yourself for the inevitable’. His pace maker was malfunctioning and to fix it they had to knock him out and do a minor surgical-type procedure. The anesthesia resulted in an immediate onset of advanced Alzheimer’s. Which sucks and in all reality could have been avoided if he hadn’t relied so heavily on advanced technology. Technology gave him a false heart when his real heart had decided that it was time to move on, and it also helped the people in his life delude themselves into thinking that he was invincible.
The death of an 85 year old man with a false heart should never come as a shock to anyone.
The problem I am facing is that I feel a bit cold hearted at the moment. Not because I actually view myself as cold-hearted, but because I think there are people who come into my life from time to time that see the world differently than myself, and because of this my viewpoint seems quite cold. I am aware that my personal beliefs may in fact leave me helpless and alone at some point in time. But no one owes me a thing, and I don’t owe anything to anyone. There is a part of me that wants to be there to console my family members who have been surprised by my grandpas passing, but I truly believe that I will not be a comfort to them. I cannot tell them that he “has gone to a better place” I cannot say that he is “no longer in pain” or “with god”. I also cannot say that I am shocked. I am sorry for my grandma because she has lost her best friend of many decades. But I am sad for her the same way I am sad for someone who’s best friend moves away. That is how I view death. It’s just a move to a place that doesn’t permit you to call or write the people you love.
This is why I hate funerals. People get so weird at them. I want to let people grieve however it is they need to grieve, but not if it is at my expense. I still remember being ‘kicked out’ of a funeral the summer after 8th grade because Vicki’s friends didn’t like me. They even tried to kick my ass the following Autumn, but I was tipped off so I avoided them. The time Mikayla killed herself and her father wouldn’t let Robert in because he didn’t like him. I was especially irritated at my dad’s funeral when Stephanie asked if it was okay with me that she was there. I get that funeral’s are supposed to be for those who are grieving -a way to find closure- but they are also for the deceased. No one who loved or was loved by the person who died should be denied the opportunity to attend the funeral (if one is taking place.) And no one should have to provide explanation for attending/missing said funeral. We all grieve in our way and no one’s grief can be measured against another’s.
I’m not even sure what I’m trying to rant about here. Nothing even really happened except for that I’m the only one not surprised by this death, and I am fearing that now that my family knows how to reach me, they will bother me once they notice I don’t show for the funeral. But death is a part of life, and I am fully aware everyone that I love will die. And if they go out at 85, I’ll consider it a life over-lived, not one that was taken too soon. This goes for me as well.
Love,
Yourself
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