Death didn't always bother me. I suppose it's because I was sheltered from it for far too long. I was 12 years old when my grandpa died. Then death when on a hiatus for a few years. It returned over a year ago and has settled in. Since then he's stolen two of my uncles, a cousin, three friends of the family and one of my peers. I don't know how much more I can take. I feel like I'm running on empty.
For a long time I didn't believe in Heaven or Hell or religion or God. Tonight it hit me. God was created only to serve as a crutch when things get too hard to handle. A time like death or an illness. My animosity toward the spirit of Him is lifted and I feel a little more at ease with the idea of death than I ever did before. Perhaps He isn't so bad. I don't need an entire religion to be devoted to, perhaps just a little faith to get me through. I'm angry that these people have been taken from everyone who has loved them and am not accepting at all at the mere idea of "no longer."
I saw the body, dead and cold, and wondered where me dear uncle was. For as long as I could remember he had rosy cheeks like Santa Claus and now they were pale and matte with heavy makeup. I wondered where did his life go? Where is he now? And I have absolutely no idea. I must admit the idea of him having a huge celebratory dinner in Heaven with my grandpa is comforting, but still an empty thought that just bounces around in my head. I feel I know what it looks like there, with endless white on the walls and a table that goes on for miles (which by the way, is filled with jelly doughnuts - his favorite.)
I didn't cry until my grandma and I began talking about my grandpa. I told her how he (my uncle) didn't even look like himself. And she said, "Sometimes it's better to remember them the way you did when you last saw them living." And although I knew this, I still cried. I said, "The last time I saw grandpa he was eating the lemon pie I had made for him." More tears. "He said it was too tart."
Sometimes life is too tart.
1 comment:
I like so many others stumbled onto your journal. You have real talent. This is one of my favorite entries. I know what you mean about looking at someone dead in a box. Death came to life for me last year, a friend of mine died in a car wreck. His face was always smiling and then there's someone who looks like him cold scathed. Its too much to bear, the thought of his lively soul under ground, rotting in a box. Unbelievable.
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