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Being cold, numb, and indifferent to death
Some specific details have been changed for the sake of anonymity
I, sometimes, wonder if I think about death more than anyone. I don't want to die; I fear it, but the irony of this is that I tend to be so numb to the idea of it...
Thankfully, I haven't been met with any tremendous tragedy (like some people who have lost friends or family members in violent or freak accidents), and I hope and pray that I never experience such a thing. Instead, death has snuck up on me throughout my life; the first people I knew to die were people I had little interaction with. However, the more people I knew passed away, the closer to home it came.
The most personal death, for me, was my grandmother who played a big part in raising me. I loved her, but by the time she'd fallen ill, I had already become so distant from her--even though we lived in the same house--and indifferent to what was going on around me, that when she actually died, I was nonchalant about it. I mean, I went through all the motions that I thought I was supposed to have, except I didn't cry. I didn't go to see her at the funeral home--not because I refused or anything but I just wasn't compelled to go. And at her funeral, didn't take much time viewing her body; I just looked at her as I walked by (A joke was later made, by my aunt, because a few of us grandchildren acted in the same manner).
I think it might have hit me one day, months later, when I was sitting in her room and the thought crossed my mind of the day her and I were sitting across from each other in the living room with our arms out as my baby sister was learning how to walk (from her to me, and back...) and I cried...though I wondered if my tears were just conjured up?
A few months ago, a beloved (by many) minister who helped raise me (before I ever met my grandmother) passed away, such a fatherly figure that I even thought of him as an uncle--and he called me his nephew. I was born in Kentucky and lived there for several years before moving to the state I live in now. I always wanted to go back and visit because he and his wife and children were so much like family that for a while I didn't know they weren't really blood kin. I had blood relatives who stayed there as well. Well, the way things happened, I never got to go back, and one of my cousins there even passed away years later, and I couldn't go to his funeral. However, for the past couple of years, I've been feeling a real sense of urgency to get back there, to the point where I planned a trip there for this past summer... And right before the summer even came, he took a turn for the worse and passed away. But this time, I wasn't going to miss out on paying my respects.
I went through hell and high water, down to the last dollar and minute, to make the trip to his memorial service. I felt somewhat cheated as he died right before I could get to see him, so I refused to miss out on at least seeing his flesh for the last time. This was a man who had made such an impression on me at a young age. I had even been poisoned when I was a kid and he drove over to my house, prayed for me, and I was healed instantly, from what I can remember.
I was shocked the moment I heard of his passing, even though I knew he'd been in and out of the hospital and was "unresponsive" this last time, but a few minutes later, I was nonchalant, although already adamant about going to his funeral...even against the advise of other relatives who knew how much of a financial sacrifice it would be for me...and them. But in the end, they were even inspired to make the long trip after seeing my determination. At his service, I went up to view his body, and heard/saw my aunt shew a fly away as one had landed on his forehead, and was just reminded of how degrading death is and how void this body was of the great man who once lived in it. I felt no connection to this body; it didn't even look like the person I knew.
And here's the part where it got weird: There had been a little underlying tension between my family and his, so my parents' motive for going wasn't just to pay respect but to also support and protect a member of my family who had intricate ties to his. One of my cousins was brought along for physical defense. He ended up sitting right next to me. There were a lot of people there but the place ad everyone in there was somberly and respectfully silent before my cousin burst out with an indirect but aggressive threat toward this minister's family, causing the whole church to look at us. It was so embarrassing! My cousin doesn't know how to whisper (even being in his late 20s) so his rambling that he started before we ever sat down, I'm sure, drew attention to us.
My Aunt and brother said something to him that was meant to calm him down, after this outburst, but me being the nervous clutz I am, made a statement that was intended to calm him down but came out in a way that seemed like I was trying to boost him up; to make matters worse, I have a nervous smirk, so my trying to laugh off the embarrassment in order to make the atmosphere light, seemed, to others, though I was cheering him on. This, in turn, caused him to continue his tirade. And I don't know what kind of energy I was feeling, but I even made a couple of inappropriate comments like "I thought he was longer than that?" (referring to the minister's height in comparison to the size the coffin looked). I think in my carelessness/clumsiness, I may have been feeding off of my cousin's energy, because I ended up rambling as much as he was...though in the back of my mind I was really attempting to calm him down as I know how he can be.
It took another relative sitting behind us to telling us to be quiet for us to stop. After the minister's family had marched in (luckily, they hadn't been there for this inappropriate episode) and they were ready to close his casket, I looked up and noticed one of the pallbearers looking at me so intensely. It gave me a feeling of shock and intimidation as he seemed to be scolding me with his eyes--just staring at me. Thankfully, the rest of the service went rather smoothly--aside from just a couple of awkward moments, but almost a year later, I have never gotten over the incredible sense of shame and embarrassment I felt when realizing that even a pallbearer had more tact and empathy than I did at my own uncle's memorial. I have replayed this in my head so many times and have even had a few dreams about it.
To add insult to injury, I woke up, one morning, to a post one of his sons had made about how much he misses him, and without giving it much thought, I sent him the following message> "Hey cuz. How are you doing? Just now reading your post about your dad. Trust, man, you are not alone in missing him. I've shed some tears, myself. Even though I didn't spend a lot of time around him the last several years, I've always considered him and important part of my life; we all did! I've thought about him on and off; I really miss him, and I can't say that it even makes sense, to me, that he's gone now, but we will understand it better with the passage of time. And just think: he probably misses you too, but he sees things from a much clearer perspective, now." I never got a response from him (we had spoken on the phone a few days before) and I thought of how insensitive it must have sounded to him, and this I've also gone over in my mind more countless times.
A few months ago, a god-brother of mine passed away at age 29. Although I did go to his memorial service and showed his family as much support as I could, I still felt a disconnection. This guy was the brother I liked the most, but I never cried. I hadn't seen or had any contact with him in several years, so maybe that's why? But the more these people, from uncles to grandparents, have died, the more real my own mortality has become to me. I am reevaluating my life right now, and am wondering how I, or anyone else, can be flippant with the reality of life and death. I wonder why I go through the motions but feel so disconnected and unable to feel?
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