Memorium

It's been roughly a year, give or take, since I had to experience three funerals in a row. Two of which were for beloved grandparents, one for my girlfriend's grandfather. To be quite honest, the whole time was utter hell. There was nothing good about the experience, even if all three had the foreboding shadow cast upon the last few months. All three lived full lives, some longer than others. All three left behind families that loved and cared about them deeply. All three, are remembered fondly and while greatly missed, are known to be in better places than they were at the end of their earth bound existence. There was some closure to their lives, too. Grown children, on their own. Grandchildren growing up and becoming adults; the anathema to death. Where there is death, life continues.

But suicide is a different matter. The recent introduction of suicide into my personal sphere of life has brought some new meditations and questions on death. Here was an individual who had nothing apparently wrong. Someone who was, by all accounts, happy and fulfilled in this life. Obviously, this individual was not. Before I continue, I would like to note that this was not someone I knew personally, having only met once or twice. Those times though would not have lead me to think that a little less than a year later that person would be intentionally gone from this existence. It's a curious thing really, that someone would intentionally remove themselves from this life. There was thought, motive, action. Planning. Yet, there is no way to know what brought this on. There never will be.

My grandfather passed because of cancer. My grandmother, old age. Her body simply gave out. There really is no other way to explain it. She lived 95 years and I guess her soul and body decided that was enough time. My grandfather was "taken" by disease. However, even if he had lasted much longer, his body was so ravaged, his 82 year old frame would not have supported him anyway. A twenty something individual taking their own life, with no apparent inner turmoil to cause it? This is where death truly stings.

We can legitimize an elderly death, or one by disease. It wasn't the persons fault, they succumbed to natural forces of the universe. Suicide takes that away. That comfort, that meaning is gone. The death hangs too, like a thick fog, engulfing everything in muted tones, obscuring what should be good foresight. Yet, life continues.

Life and death are intimately connected, so much so that they are nearly one and the same. Life feeds on life. Carnivorous or not, all things we consume are "alive" and all of them die. From before we are conceived by the meeting of our genetic raw data, death is there. Millions of potential pieces of us "die" in the struggle to create us. Women, before the advent of modern medicine, could very well die in child birth. Truth be told, this is still more the case in the majority of the earth. We are truly spoiled in the West.

When a loved one dies, we all must find a way to continue. This is the harshness and sweetness of death; we must continue on without a valuable part of ourselves, yet we are still able to continue. Graveyards are fascinating to me. The person buried there won't give one rip about the plot of land or the headstone. It's all for us. To remember them and to give us hope to soldier on. This should make life all the more beautiful to us. It should cause us to take chances, laugh loudly and heartily, and love without reservation. We don't though.

We get wrapped up in our own lives. Paying bills, raising children, feeding our bodies, the everyday realities of life ad nauseum. Then again, maybe we should just find joy in these realities. Maybe this is where we should find our joy. I could also be blowing smoke out of my ass. That's more the case I think. I'm not going to pretend to understand any of what I've read, or have any answers. A simple meditation on that facet of life that is constantly engaged in the ending of it.

April is national poetry month... and I'm going to post about it again!

First off, I suck at this blog thing. I don't know why, but I don't see myself as having interesting enough content for an all the time thing. I will post, just sporadically (for the 5 of you following anyway).

April is National Poetry Month and as one of my favorite art forms, I plan to engage in this celebration of the written, rhythmic word. To start off, here is another poem I wrote. This came from a class I took where I had to take the title of a poem, not read said poem, and then write my own based only on the title. Here it goes! Happy April!

Only One of My Deaths

Walk down the cereal path and you’ll notice
A curious thing,
The sugar cane smiles brightly, cheerfully,
and resides on equal footing with
The smallest ones.

Happy go lucky creatures dance in
Suspended prose
Grinning eternally , saying to all,
“Come run with me through the syrup fields with
High fructose corn bellies.”

I, as it goes, am immune to this
Siren song, rather my hand
Clutches onto all bran, hydrogenated, iron weighted
Damn near, 100% system maintaining
Rabbit food.

-Daniel J. Adkins; 2008