Ruminations Upon Death

Sorry, flock, to have such a horrific subject matter, but it's really been occurring to me, more in a clinical, detached way than a philosophical one, recently. I wish to represent a balanced, unworrisome view.

We all wonder: what the hell is going to happen to me when I die?

It's a really hard one, but if you think of it in a concrete manner, it's far, far worse than if you don't die but someone else you know does. You're left to contemplate it.

My first experience with death was when a small two-year-old named Robin (I'll never forget her name) decided she wanted to climb a fire escape with her brother and me. We were just five years old; we couldn't have had a clue, but no one was looking after any of us.

She fell off the fire escape and suffered fatal head trauma. You know the phrase "blood everywhere?" But that's what it was, and I was maybe 5. Looking down at that baby in the white frock with a ten-foot pool of blood on the tarmac is engraved in my mind like you etched it in acid. Who knew that even babies were just basically bags of blood?

So my dad died. But he died very slowly, like an aging plant just running out of steam. I would love to say that I lived to 87 years old. No pain, just deterioration.

But in the end, what is death? I'll tell you, my flock, what death is, and why you don't have to be afraid about it.

Remember when you were two weeks old? I thought so. That is death. There is no problem with it other than the regret of not continuing life. Your life. Your mother's life. Your friend's life.

But death is quite friendly; it means never reading the news again. As if you needed to read the news in the first place. The universe is very, very slow, so when you slap that fly's life out of existence, recognize that it only had about 28 days to live.

We have about 70 years, but bristlecone pines live for thousands. And who dares to say they have no consciousness? Only one we may not know about.

I'm facing a number of people who are going to check out/have checked out so I just get to thinking about it. Sure, easy to say at 4 a.m. but: don't be afraid. It'll be just like going back to Mummy's stomach. And you liked that.

I promise it so.