There has been little I've had to say lately, and part of that I suppose comes from the dullness of the routine - the back and forth a million times a day driving kids and husband and mother to where they need to go. It is very easy now to lose track of individual days, sometimes even weeks go by and I make no tracking of one day as any different from any other.

Today something happened.

Jeanette had a seizure outside her workplace, just as we were pulling up in fact to pick her up for a doctor's appointment (she hadn't been feeling well). She was lying there convulsing on the ground surrounded by her co-workers, and there was a sort of surrealism to it like sound and sight and all just spiraled and distorted. There is just something that happens when you see your child lying there on the ground and you think about when they were born and how this might be the last moment you will see them and all the things you fight about seem petty and insignificant. There are a lot of times when I do not like how the kids are right now, these teenage years and their attitudes of entitlement and how they are often rather belligerent and self-centered. But still, there is the hope that you will have years beyond these times in which things can balance and normalize and at least get back to some semblance of the affection you had for each other in younger years.

And in a moment you wonder if you have lost that chance forever, and then she comes out of it and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding and you will know that you love this child no matter what shitty things she says to you on a nearly continual basis because that is just the way of things.

My father died as the weather was turning warm, as the flowers were starting to bloom and life was renewing itself. I always thought that a particularly ironic time to die, and at this time of year my thoughts ever turn to death and really I thought I would be more likely to be the one lying on the ground having a near-death because of all the problems I have. You never think it will be your child. Old people sure, you expect it somewhat, and when you are sickly yourself you kind of think about the possibility. But not a kid, not you kid.

It's like that.

Nathan visited us for a few days last week. That was really nice. I went to the Bus Stop Cafe, and my friend Joey was performing there and asked me to come up and read one of my poems during his set and I did with him and his friends providing background music. That was really nice. There have been some good times, some points of light. I am writing a lot. I am still working on my German (plucking away at the new language, word by word). We have purchased our shed and it will be on the way soon and we have a sort of business plan.

Hanging in there, though sometimes it's a lot more 'hang' and a lot less 'in'.

Tomorrow's agenda includes finding a neurologist then figuring out how we're going to pay for one.

To top it off, our hermit crabs also died.

Granted, all our pets were old for their species, but what is this - dead pet month?

Since everyone and their brother has already mentioned the passing of Gary Gygax, I'd like to take this opportunity to remind you all that Heath Ledger is still dead.

Oh the humanity!

Because I can't sleep. Some songs from the memorial service, and some that I added in...


Today was long, and full of funeral. I will write about this tomorrow, most likely.

Funeral collage is made. Today was very long.

Have lots of things to do still this weekend. So tired.

Funeral is on Saturday. I am in charge of making a picture collage for the viewing, which makes me feel better to have something helpful that I can do. I am going to go to the craft store tomorrow and get a big posterboard and craft supplies and such.

Apologies to my games, I really don't feel up to too much playing right now. I was trying to come up with some stuff to post today, but my brain is total mush.

I did manage to at least get a Soundtracking mail sent around, though no column this week.

I've been playing some video games and just trying to take my mind off things. I got some new games for the DS , and Sims Castaway Stories for the laptop. The Sims Castaways is so fun!

Thank you so much to everyone who has been offering your well wishes and support. I'm sorry I didn't answer comments individually, or call the folks that gave me their numbers, or answer all my IMs and emails and everything. I've just been really drained and it's kinda hard to talk all the time right now. I do appreciate everyone's support so so much. Please don't think that I don't. You guys are the best.

Last night my sister-in-law died.

She loved my brother, her little yorkie dog Spike, her best friend Vera, faeries, feeding the birds, flowers, shopping, playing Snood on her computer, playing board games, Star Trek, jewelery and shiny things.

We didn't always get along - in truth, I found her kind of annoying. She had this habit of telling long boring stories that didn't seem to have much of a point. She spent all her money on what I saw as useless things - big rings, things for the house that they didn't really have room for, the home shopping club.

This one time years ago when she first got married to my brother, I asked her if she'd like to go to Weight Watchers with me because I was going to go and I wanted someone to go with me. She got all upset because she thought I was saying she was fat. What I was really trying to say is 'I want us to be friends'. We weren't ever, really. But she loved my brother and my brother loved her, so that was enough that I at least tolerated her most of the time. Maybe I should have tried harder. It's too late now, though. At least she isn't lying there and suffering anymore.

I have been tagging old journal entries, and as I look back I realize patterns in my life that I don't think I would have ever observed without keeping a journal for these past seven years.

For example, right about the same time every winter - I get a sinus infection. Within a one week period or so of when I got it the previous year - yep, there it is. Like clockwork.

I also can trace things like my PTSD - which has, predictably, grown worse over the years through similar traumas. That also seems to ebb and flow at certain times of the year. One of the peak times seems to be around the holidays - there's a lot of extra stress around this time of year, and I react very poorly to situations that are loud/noisy/overstimulating.

I also discovered something that I'd forgotten entirely - though my father died in March 2002, he was dying during the holiday season of 2001. When I look back in my journal, I read about what was possibly the last holiday I really enjoyed - Halloween 2001. We took the kids around and dressed in costumes ourselves - myself, Aus, my niece Jolene and her boyfriend at the time. The kids were still young, and enthralled with the holiday and we all had a wonderful time. My father is in Florida, having taken a sudden unplanned trip to see his sister. We are all glad he is gone - because he's been extra grumpy and yelling at everyone lately. Thanksgiving of that year sees us eating dinner out on a holiday for the first time - at a restaurant close to the hospital where my father is lying and suffering of pneumonia. In a few days, we will also learn that he has cancer. We stop to shop for presents after his biopsy a few weeks later. He buys things for the household- a stove, a new kitchen table. No one tells him he is dying, but these are signs that he knows. He doesn't tell us he knows, either. No one speaks of it. We wrap presents, I take him to doctors to have the fluid drained from his belly that swells like he is pregnant. At Christmas dinner, he screams when the turkey isn't done when he's ready to eat and calls myself and my mother bitches. My brother Joe leaves. My brother Ron and I sit outside, and wonder if this is the last Christmas we will have with him, and if this is the memory we will have. The New Year and hospice comes, bringing with them a hospital bed. My father takes up residence in the living room, in the space recently vacated by the Christmas tree. On St. Patrick's day, my niece comes over to make him his favorite ham and cabbage meal. He is too sick to eat it. He is dead less than a week later. Easter is early that year, the baskets are by his funeral collage.

I can trace a lot of my current lack of enthusiasm for holidays to that cycle of events. Things were somewhat better this year - the family came to the house instead of going out as they have every year since my father's death. I didn't go with them ever, preferring instead to just stay at home with Aus. But this year, they pretty much thrust their company upon me - and drug me out into the living room to play Wii with them and so on. And it wasn't entirely unpleasant. In fact, it was quite nice. I got this little stomach flu thing after Christmas - but even that wasn't bad. Instead of going out for our anniversary/New Years, Aus and I stayed home and played games and watched the mummer's day parade. It also helped that I pushed myself to do a holiday special for Soundtracking. With having to write cheerful columns on the history of Christmas carols, Christmas movies, and so forth - I couldn't avoid all the trappings of the season. I listened to carols. I watched movies - and remembered how much I really love some of those (Christmas Carol in its many forms!) I can't say I entirely enjoyed the season as much as I did as a child, but I certainly didn't dislike it as much as I did other years.

I also noticed that I've done a lot of growing as a person in the past seven years. The things I think and write about aren't as entirely self-centered. I read better books. I watch less prime time tv and more documentaries. I am a kinder and less angry at the world.

I wonder if I will still have this journal seven years from now, and how I will look back on this entry?

Jason Staines
September 4, 2006 - 3:31PM

Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin, has died after being struck by a stingray barb in Queensland.

Mr Irwin, 44 died after the stingray barb went through his chest while he was shooting a documentary off Port Douglas.

The Queensland Police Service has confirmed Mr Irwin's death. In a statement, it said Mr Irwin collapsed after being stung by a sting ray at Batt Reef, off Port Douglas, about 11am.

After being struck, Mr Irwin's crew called for medical treatment and
the Emergency Management Queensland Helicopter responded,
but he was dead before the treatment arrived.

The statement said Mr Irwin's family has been advised.

His American-born wife Terri is reported to be trekking on Cradle Mountain in Tasmania.

A spokesman for the Queensland Ambulance Service said officers attended the scene on Low Isles via helicopter at 12.04pm today and arrived back in Cairns at 12.53pm.

"The area it was delivered to was the problem. A sting ray hit to the chest is a big problem," he said.

Mr Irwin - known worldwide as the Crocodile Hunter - is famous for his enthusiasm for wildlife and his catchcry "Crikey!".

The father of two's Crocodile Hunter program was first broadcast in 1992 and has been shown around the world on cable network Discovery.

He also starred in movies and has developed the Australia Zoo wildlife park, north of Brisbane, which was started by his parents Bob and Lyn Irwin.

Foreign Minister Alexander Downer, who used a photograph of his family at Australia Zoo for his official Christmas card last year, hailed Mr Irwin for his work in promoting Australia.

Mr Irwin was heavily involved in last year's "G'Day LA" campaign.

"The minister knew him, was fond of him and was very, very appreciative of all the work he'd done to promote Australia overseas," a spokesman said.

A spokeswoman for Irwin's Australia Zoo said she was aware of reports of his death and the zoo would not be making any statements at this stage.

According to the zoo's website, Irwin was born in Victoria in 1962, but
moved with his family to Queensland in 1970 when his father, Bob, started a reptile park on the Sunshine Coast.

Irwin married American Terri Raines in 1992 after she visited the zoo
on holiday.

I was supposed to get my car fixed the other week, but let it go because the problem fixed itself for a while. Then the air died again, and so I called up the mechanic. His wife answered, and the call went something like this.

"Hey, it's Laura - the air on my car was working again, but now it died."

"So did Mark."

"...."

Apparently, he had a heart attack last week while working on a roof in all the heat. He was always working on something. She thought we'd known because it was in all the papers (the obituary) but we don't get any of the local papers, and didn't know.

He was a friend of the family for longer than I've been alive, and a super nice guy. His whole family is so nice... this is really sad. Even after he went out of the car fixing business officially, he still looked after our family cars. He could always find the problem, and fixed it well and cheaply. He was an incredible mechanic and a great person.

FINALLY had some time to sit down and write today. I wrote a short story in my Michael series, yay. It's been about two weeks since I've written anything, and it was really starting to get to me.

I bought a book called Crochet For Dummies today - which will hopefully help me with some of the problems I've been having in my crocheting. I wanted to take another class, but the craft store said that the crochet teacher had retired. I guess I could try the one in Vineland. I may check there if this book doesn't do it for me.

Found out that one of our neighbors died sometime recently. I don't know when exactly, as I just heard about it in that vague 'Hey, so-and-so died' kind of way. My mother went out to find out the details, I'll l ask her later. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about this. People die, it happens. We talk to our neighbors infrequently at best. She was the only neighbor who didn't annoy me though, so I will miss that. She was old and pretty sickly for a while, so.. yeah. I don't know what people expect of you at times like this. This is one of those weird societal conventions that I don't understand. Like when my father died, almost four years ago now (in a couple of weeks it'll be four years) - we had all these people coming over the house and saying how sorry they were. He was old. He'd been sick. I'd never seen these people visiting or doing things with my father when he was alive. Why come over when he is dead? Then a week or so after, they stopped coming and we still havent' seen them again. What is it about dying that makes people group together and say how sorry they are, then go away again? I think that it is more that they are realizing their own mortality, and that they are sorry for that fact and need to prove that they are still alive and existent. I realize my own mortality all the time, and I'm okay with that. I don't feel any need to participate in funeral rituals for someone I barely knew.

It is a lovely day today - the temperature is near eighty. Today I want to sit outside and enjoy the fresh air and maybe read my book a while, though I likely won't because I have a lot of writing to catch up on. The air is nice though, I have both windows open.

I got an unexpected package today- a Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins t-shirt. It's got a hillbilly guy on it that says "Hot Damn", and it's a nice yellow color. That was pretty sweet!

Today I went rooting through the possessions of the dead. It's a ghoulish pursuit, but one that yielded a ton of interesting things. Two old people died, and their children came to their house, and just put everything out to the curb. Absolutely everything the house contained went out- all the furniture, all their clothes, all their books, all their kitchen things - every single thing you can think of that a house might contain was carelessly thrown out. My son and his friends discovered it, and asked me to come with the car. We went through everything, this sum total of two lives. There were some other people there too, picking and choosing things that they could use - one guy tying a rocking chair to the top of his little purple bug car. From the refuse it seemed like they were devout Christians, and I wonder how people can believe in god when it all comes down to everything you've had in this life being left by the side of the road to be scavenged by strangers. How can there be any justice in that, that these were probably good, pious, kind people - it seemed like one of them had been a school teacher - and yet, everything they worked for and saved was left like garbage? It hurt me to see, all the hand knitted slippers and careful clippings of newspapers, books and Christmas decorations and halloween things, and dolls... everything all tossed indiscriminately.

I took some things home with me- the boys picked up a huge collection of National Geographics dating back to the 60's. I got a set of history books from 1912- ten volumes, all in beautiful shape. All kinds of old books I got, most in very good shape, all well-taken care of. Some nifty old china. All things these people had obviously loved and cared for, that I picked up out of the dirt in front of their empty abandoned house. I can't describe how lonely and sad and disappointed it makes me feel to see how poorly the remains of these peoples lives were treated by their children. They might as well have dumped the bodies right out there with the rest of it for all the care that was shown.

I mean, even if they didn't want the things, there was a lot there that could have been given to charity. It was just a senseless waste... I'm glad that there were people there salvaging some of it, at least.

So.. my father is going to die.

Yeah, I know. Everyone dies.

But soon, apparently.

He got the results of the biopsy back and it's liver cancer. Liver cancer has a very poor prognosis, being usually fatal, and usually fatal within 3 to 6 months.

I don't want to lose a parent. I know he's 73, and sometimes, he can be quite cranky.. but.. he's my father. I don't think you're ever really ready to lose your mother or father, no matter how old you are, unless they -totally- sucked, or you never really knew them.

I feel very irritatable and depressed right now. I wanted to nap for a while, which I did- and then I wanted to play some games with the kids. Steve wanted Aus to teach him Battleship. Ry went "Blargh" when Aus told her we were going to play with the kids, and that made me really angry. I think that we've got the right to have family time, after all. I think that I overreacted because I'm grumpy,but it still made me pretty irritated. We do have lives outside the online world, and occasionally, go to live them.

All she had to do was wait a bit. Not like the kids don't go to bed at 9:30 anyhow. But now here it is, time for the kids to be in bed, and of course, since she stormed off after I got mad, we've got no one to play with online. Oh, well. So it goes.

There's days when humanity in general just makes me sick. Why do we have to die, anyhow? It seems pretty blasted unfair, unless the next world is pretty kickarse, to have to die. And even if it is better there, why do we have to leave everyone we care about behind?

I don't want to die someday. I want to live forever. The only immortality I have found it to be possible in this life to achieve is to have people remember your name after you die. I supposedly have lived before, and will again, if you believe in the whole reincarnation thing. But I don't remember who I was, or who I will be, so I only have this one limited life to work with.

I want to be remembered for something after I die. I want my momenument to stand, if not as eternal as the pyramids of Egypt, and the works of Shakespeare, somewhere- to be able to be seen long after I am gone.

Sadly, most people fade into nothingness as they die. Their name is carried on by their children, grandchildren - for a few generations- and then that too, fades. Most people have no idea of their geneology, and even if they do, they know no more than a name on a page.

I want to be more than a footnote in history...

So as you probably know if you've been reading this or know me and care at all, my father has some sort of cancer that's going to kill him fairly soon, in all likelhood.

Yes, he's 73.

No, he's not a saint.

In fact, in his day ,he was a pretty much a bastard.

But that was a long time ago, and I'm pretty much a forgiving person. We made our peace with each other, and I came to understand that with his mental issues, he would never be able to be any different as far as expressing love or affection goes. But hey, at least he started trying- and we've been getting along good.

So now, he's going to die. Pretty much a certain thing at this point, considering that the majority of my family is encouraging him NOT to get the biopsy he needs to determine where and what the cancer is, and if it's cureable.

Why?

Because they all believe this stupid theory that if you have cancer, and you get an operation of any sort, the "air" will get into your body and spread the cancer. Am I the only one this sounds completely stupid to?

So I talked to my doctors about it- and they explained that in my parents generation, one of the only things they could do for cancer was to open a person up and surgically remove it. People often died soon after gettting these operations. Why? It wasn't because the "air" got in and spread the cancer- but because the cancer had already spread, but was undetectable with the primitive meathods they had back then. The remaining cancer would then kill the person.

Aparently, back then, popular superstition was that the air caused the spreading. Well, guess what? We've got modern technology now. It's not like that anymore- and it wasn't even the air in the first place. Soo.. let's just get over that and face reality. Right? Wrong, if you're a member of my family.

They insist that doctors don't know what they're talking about, and that this is some sort of universal truth. And that I'm going to kill my father by trying to insist he have the tests, instead of "letting him live his life in peace and in the hands of God". No, they're not usually religious- they just sort of refer to "god" whenever they don't understand something completely, and have some reason to turn to "him".

I'm not exactly an atheist.. but considering that anything I've ever believed about religion came from studying Celtic mythology and from my time with the Buddhist monks, I'm not very popular on the religious scale in my family, either. They also think it's horrific that I haven't had my children baptized, allowing them to make their own decisions about such matters when they grow up instead.

It breaks my heart, however, to know that their stubborn refusal to believe in modern medicine instead of superstition will likely kill my father. It may strike you here that he has lived for 73 years, and that by no means, can we say that he will be cheated out of a large portion of his existance by this decision. But how can you measure the worth of one more sunset, of one more Christmas with your family, of one more day to be surrounded by the people you love?

Live in the present.. drink in as much of the universe as you can.

Right now, I'm extremely depressed about not getting to talk to Aus at his lunch break. My father wasn't feeling up to driving and wanted me to drive him and my mother somewhere, and we didn't get back until after 3. That makes me very sad. I know I'll see Aus in just a little over two hours, but the day isn't the same without getting to talk to him in the middle of it. I'm pretty melencholy without talking to him. He's my soulmate.

Last night and today, it's been one of those full circle kind of things. Last night we saw Kyle, and Kev, and oddly enough, Claire. It made Aus very depressed to see Claire again because of how she hurt him when she left. Me, I was just wondering about her sincerity level. If all is on the up and up, and she's willing to make an effort to be friendly, then let's be friendly. I'm entirely a forgiving person, when it comes down to it. The monks used to tell me that it was my nature to be a helper and a giver, and a keeper of secrets and souls. Monks speak in that semi-mystical way. I miss the monks, too- but it's another part of my life I can't go back to. I'm constantly reinventing my own reality. That's another thing they said. That in addition to having lived many lives (reincarnation wise), I tend to try and live at least ten separate life phases in each one of those lives. I wonder if that's some form of cosmic schitzophrenia?

I wrote a poem today, but I couldn't bring myself to write it about myself, or anyone other than someone fictional. It's called "But Not Today". It wound up being written for Lex. It goes like this:

Building castles in the air,
Brick by brick we will rise,
And dance among clouds there,
Beautific in the sunset skies.

--- but not today

Yearning to learn sacred names,
For the feelings I can't call,
Only your love heals and tames,
Raw and familar, pride to fall.

--- but not today

Holding your hand as we walk,
My heart soars with dreams,
I want to silence all talk,
And lay bare my schemes.

--- but not today.

Today is for taking a chance,
For opening my heart to you,
Today is for making romance,
Making love, not making due.

Today drowns all yesterdays,
And brings the birth of dawn,
Today's going to be the way,
I live for love, from now on.


And so it goes. I'm still writing poems, and living my life in constant struggle to be more of this and less of that. Not all that much has changed in a year, other than the fact that people who used to be my friends fear me. I'm not anything to fear- not really. Another thing the monks told me is that we choose our feelings, regaurdless of external stimuli. This is how some people are calm in the face of danger, and others laugh inapropriately when they're nervous, and the like. If you choose to be afraid of me, so be it- but I have done nothing to deserve that fear. I'm rather mellow these days, and I only bite the heads off of creatures that deserve such. If you happen to deserve it.. once again, that's on you, and not me.

I'm refering here to Nomi's visit to the Loft whilst I was out. She left before I returned because she was afraid to run into me, because I might verbally tear her a new one. In actuality, I probably would have said something along the lines of "hi". I don't understand this trepidation, particularlly since she has spoken with me fairly recently, and even did stop by once. And it was calm, if not entirely unstrained. And she should have known that no one would bite her head off, as they didn't do so to Claire the other night. But logic is not a strong suit when emotions get all wrapped up in the confusion of what has passed, and what might still be.

I had a dream last night that I was saving the world again, one person at a time. Why do I always dream such things? It never really happens that way. I also tried to explain some of what I do to my father today. His reply was "Maybe you should get a part time job". Because to him.. success = money. Having as much money as you can before you die is sort of the goal, according to him. I could never see it that way. I'm happy doing what I do, and that confuses him.

I tried explaining to him that I get fan mail now, and that I've got over 100 pieces of work- and that I can be seen by millions of users a day when I write my articles and stories for high profile places. I tried to explain that people seem to like me here, and this is the place where I am successful, because kindness and an audience for my writing are the only two things I ever really wished for. He just grunted, asked how much it paid, and dipped one of those fried noodles into a bowl of sauce. End of conversation.

It's sort of depressing to know that you live a life of happiness that you cant' share with all the unhappy people around you. I guess I'm not really depressed so much as moody, because I'm yerning to fix things that I cannot fix, and thinking about all the things I tried to fix that didn't turn out quite right. I should think instead about the good that I have done, and the good that I will do, and all the pretty things that surround me, both inside and out.

He's going to die soon, and I have yet to understand how he lived. We connect more than we have connected ever before, but it's not enough. I want to understand.. before it's too late. I also have been thinking alot about Jolene. She broke up with Jay this week, but might be getting back together with him. I hope she does. He seems to be good for her, and I rather like him as a friend. It also doesn't hurt that he can draw spiffily, and keep the kids entertained. Heh.

I'm cold tired and numb.

I'm tired of crying because my father's going to die while alternately wondering how long I can stand for him to live like this.

I hate trying to watch tv to feel a little better and seeing complete crap like last night's Buffy The Vampire slayer, which just seemed to take Spike, Willow, and Buffy totally out of character for some reason and make them irritating freaks. I could write better than that. I have written better than that. I think I can finally understand why people write fan fics so often.

I have too much laundry.

I don't have enough reasons to smile today.

The only bright spot I'm feeling right now is that I can pick up Aus from work in twenty minutes.

Man, I wish I knew why life had to be like this sometimes.

The fact that we have to die, I believe, is not nearly so bad as the fact that we must outlive those we care for.

I feel more grief and sorrow for those left behind then the one who died- because who knows... the Christians might be right. There could be a heaven. Or, like I believe, reincarnation. At any rate, I'm pretty sure that once the body ceases to function, there isn't much to feel sorry for on the part of the dead person.

That being said.. here are some of Laura's observations on funerals.

1) Funerals are one of the only two times you can be wearing a black suit and tie and not look like a gangster (the other time, being at a wedding).

2) The best buffets happen after funerals. Unfortunately, you're usually too drained and emotional to eat them.

3) One floral arrangement is lovely. Fifteen floral arrangements will dominate any small room, and smell overpoweringly perfumed.

4) You will inevitably be seated between two people you don't recognize at all at least once during any funerary occasion.

5) It is perfectly alright for old men in uniform to put on their thick glasses and aim shotguns "somewhere away from the crowd and in the air" at funerals. Its called "a military salute". Any other time, its called "a very bad idea".

6) People look ugly when they cry. Watching people crying makes other people cry. If you don't cry at a funeral, people stare at you and wonder why.

7) Preachers will make at least one religious reference that most people will fail to understand, or find humorous. Or both. Laughing at funerals makes people stare at you.

8)No matter how many funerals you have been to, each one is still a bit shocking. "Hey... we can -die-. " Someday, I'll be the one in the casket. There's no if about that.

9) Funeral directors invariably look creepy. And have this practiced "sad smile" look.

10) You will wonder, at least once, what the name of the device is that lowers the coffin into the ground. (Cask-o-Matic came to mind, but I'm sure its wrong).

All I can say is, I am in need of much sleep and to see my own folks. My parents ae actually older than Aus's grandpa was. That makes me very worried.

You know...

Anger at those who are still alive and trying to help is no way to grieve.

Things are stressful enough without Tim yelling at us, and having to neurotically clean everythign so his wench can come here.

I can think of very few times in my life when yelling and anger actually helped anything at all. This is definately not one of those times.

My mind is taking that morbid trip down death memory lane that it seems to take everytime someone I know dies.

I remember the first time I was struck with the knowledge we could -die-. I was five years old, and my grandmother had died in her bed in my family's house. I remembre the ambulence coming, and my mother crying, and that they didn't put the sheet up over her until they brought her out of the room, and I could see how pale and cold she looked.

I asked if she was sick, and someone explained to me, that she wouldn't be coming back. They explained death to me.. and I had reoccuring dreams for years afterwards involving her being in an Egyptian sarcophogus, and coming back to life... I didn't make peace with her death for many years.

My Uncle Louie died when I was a kid, too. I remember being old enough to want to go to the funeral, and wanting that sense of closure. But my parents thought I was too young and I think I may have gone anyhow... I remember a coffin draped in a flag.. and people crying. I remember that my Uncle Louie used to dance with me at weddings. Little else.

When I was in school, some lady died, and the Girl Scout troop was sent to go give some sort of memorial wreath. I was terrified by this, I think, because this was a person I had never seen in life, and the first open casket I had ever seen as well. She looked like a wax figure almost, and our leader was encouraging us to touch her hand.

Yeah, that was a bright idea. Getting 10 year old girls to touch a dead person. I had nightmares about that one for -years.

I don't remember any other deaths from childhood. The next one I remember was Gus dying (my ex-husband's father), and feeling sort of numb. He was a brilliant musician and fairly young.

My cousin in law John died young... younger than I am now, I believe. He lived hard. Died after a barfight.. left behind young children and my cousin, Linda. I remember most about that thinking how like sleep he looked.. how untouched by age and time.

My Aunt Rita, I remmeber because of my mother's commentary "It so doesn't look like her". They hadn' burried her in a wig that I hadn't known she wore. My mother and my Aunt Marie were discussing how bad she looked dead in the "audience" section. Like looking good dead is something we should strive for?

Joe was just a friend... but when he died, I think I felt defeated. I had helped care for him durring his cancer, and I always thought that he would recover. I'm pretty suprizingly optomistic.

The death that I think affects me most was my Aunt Jenny's death. My daughter Jeanette is named for her. I heard one day from my mother, offhandedly, that Aunt Jenny had died - long after I left home. I didn't get to say goodbye.. there was no chance.. she was just.. gone.

But the way she lived, independant and strong, I think she would have prefered it that way.

Another thing that strikes me is how much imagry carrys over and blurs together. Laying flowers on a casket.. walking through a graveyard in the rain... hearing a preacher speak, the sound of tears. These are moments that remain in my mind, yet detatched from the larger picture of who's funeral they belong to.

I find that odd, that there are moments of tragic beauty that separate themselves from the business of death, and have that anomnimity. Perhaps these are universal symbols, and have been a part of deaths for more years that man has counted time, and will be parts of it for many years after I am gone.

I have never remembered a day when someone died and the heavens have not wept in response. Why does it always seem to be grey when people die?


.... I write a lot when I'm sad.