Death

What a morbid sounding title. It's all I could come up with though. While I usually never have much of a problem finding something to babble on about, coming up with titles is tricky for me at times. I wonder if someone has a blog dedicated to sharing titles that we bloggers can use.

I received one of those phone calls you don't wish to receive this morning. My great uncle died. Considering he's been very sick and in hospice for the past 5 months, his death was to be expected. However, I'm never completely prepared for the words: "they're dead." Even though I didn't know him that well, and even though I have had to admit I never really liked him much and was, overall, always uncomfortable around him, it was still painful news. He's been on my mind all day.

Death hits me at this very strange, scary place, that place where I feel completely vulnerable, completely out of control. I don't like going to that place, although I know the freedom of doing so. I know to avoid that space I keep myself held prisoner in a way.

We won't be going to the funeral for many reasons. While some are logistical, most have to do with the idea that "bonding" with my family, who I have come to describe as familiar strangers, is enough to make me throw up--and I don't mean that in a metaphoric way. I remember when my grandpa died. I was 17 at the time. I adored him. Everyone stood around like zombies. I don't remember any hugging. I don't remember any real talking or reminiscing. I do remember the drinking and my cousin and her friends hurting me with their snide remarks and relentless teasing over god knows what. I remember thanking god I would be 18 soon and could thus stop attending these family events that had quite literally traumatized me since I was a child. I ended up memorializing my grandpa in my own way in the years to come. One such way was by getting married on his birthday. I remember at the time thinking maybe this would help bridge the gap in some way between me and the family. Instead I received grief for having a wedding on a weekday. Oh well. Sometimes you just gotta say 'wtf' and do your own thing.

I heard Sylvia Brown say the following this past week: "Death is a relief. A celebration. We're finally free from life on earth which is the real hell." While I don't believe it is living on earth that is hell (it certainly doesn't have to be anyway), I do believe, or want to believe, that death provides a sense of WHEW. How am I to really know that though? While I believe in past lives and have had enough strange experiences that validate some of my own, I don't recall any of my other deaths, so there is still that great unknown. That's what I fear the most--that fear of the unknown. What will happen to me? Where will I go? What if I don't make it? What if I just linger, lost and alone? My first plan is to explore the universe. A free trip. No expenses. Don't even need fuel. No need to ask some stupid human for a passport or even permission. Just an intention and as such, it is so. That is what I envision as heaven to be. As the line from Field of Dreams goes: heaven is the place "where dreams come true." There is no human interference, no rules. Just support, help. A giant YES.

So....in the meantime, I'm still living as a human on this planet. And as such, death will probably always feel like this great unknown to me--something that feels like it's in my grasp but when I reach out to touch it, it slips away.

Rock on, Uncle B. Tell grandpy and cousin S hi for me. Have a safe trip and come visit me sometime. I'm open to talking in my dreams--I do it quite often. Maybe we didn't do a very good job at connecting in the way humans are capable of. Life goes on though for both of us. Maybe we can start a new connection in a new way with a new understanding. I'd really like that.