About Death

Yesterday I went for a walk. 4 hours. 2 hours in the light drizzle. Didn't cover much of a distance as I paused now and then, watching the trees, the flowers on the ground; stepped aside to let other pass by, stopped for the cars to whiz by. And a long pause in front of the cemetery on the Dead Zone (as a friend once called it).

No, I didn't go inside, just stopped and stared at the graves - some fondly remembered and smothered with red flowers, yellow flowers, (I don't know anything about flowers, and I don't think the dead care much either); some forgotten, some with elaborate heavy tombstones (to keep the dead from escaping the depths and wandering I suppose), and some with plain slabs of granite...dearly beloved...here lies...born - dead...

Thought of all those dead and gone to some other world, heaven, hell, planet Z, who cares...what kind of lives they must have led, no, more important, what kind of death? Is there a difference in the death of a 20-something and an 80 year old hag? People sigh 'oh but its not fair, he was so young...' and 'oh thank god her suffering has come to an end'.

What I think is that it is just selfishness of people that speaks in both cases - you sigh when a young thing dies, cuz he or she isn't goin to contribute to your household expenses anymore; or if they were wastrels, there is yet the possibility that they would have turned a new leaf and if nothing else, take care of their old and dwindling parents. As for the 80 something who dies, a burden is off their heads, all the expenses and the trauma of taking care of a cantakerous old geezer is over for good.

That's just about it. All the pain you feel is for yourself, cuz what you feel is an amputation - that a person you need to feel needed has left you. Forever. The grim reaper with his sickle chops more than one in a single sweep. You get to keep the scars.