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Coping With Death
Henroid
Mexican kicked from Immigration ThreadCentrism is Racism :3Registered User regular
Mexican kicked from Immigration ThreadCentrism is Racism :3Registered User regular
I saw a thread that Couscous attempted to make and Elki said not enough OP. I think I can cover that though.
Aside from the curiosity on how people cope with it, and how religion does or does not come into play, I think it could generally do some good to relate things with one another. I think that's an important step in coping with just about anything in life - having people that understand to varying degrees, and can relate. One thing that I'll ask is that if anyone does turn to religion that others respect it and don't say they are wrong for doing so.
I lost my grandpa to a stroke in 2001, during my sophomore year in highschool. I forgot the exact date of the stroke itself (though I have it recorded in a journal), but he passed away on April 1st. As you can imagine, the first couple years following April Fool's Day wasn't much fun. Prior to his death, I had a sort of rebellion against my family in regard to religion. I was the typical angsty teen that blamed God for all my 'problems,' and swore off the religion. And then the stroke happened, and I started second guessing myself. After the phone call that Sunday, I turned to blaming myself for his death. That I was somehow being punished.
Years after, that's gone away. I'm religious, but I don't believe in a vengeful God.
The impact it had on me has been constant. Until that time, I had also sworn off my family as useless, out to get me, etc. And with that one phone call, I realized that there were exceptions to my views and the best of them was gone now. See, my grandpa is the one who decided to relocate my family (mom's side) to the United States in the 60's. Out there (the Azores, Portuguese islands), he had a mistress aside from my grandma. He had an accident on a motorcycle one day, and it changed his life. He spent every day, even here in the States as I was growing up, doing his best for my grandma to make it up to her. Through this he taught me the concept of repent, or showing sincerity in asking for forgiveness (not in the religious sense; worldly). I realized all this too late, and it's only after his death that he became an important figure in my life.
He had left for me, specifically (the youngest of his grandchildren), a ring he's had since he was my age. Unfortunately, it's way too big for me and I've left it with my grandma for the time being. When I graduated from highschool in 2003, my family had dinner at my grandmother's house. She saw that I was wearing a crucifix that she had given me when I was a kid, and started going on (in Portuguese, but I got the idea) about how it was not fitting of me anymore. She went to her box of little keepings, and brought out my grandpa's crucifix. Since that day, I've worn it every day when leaving the house. It's got a double meaning to it for me.
Another thing that helped me realize his importance in the family was that his funeral is the last time we had any sort of large family gathering. A lot of drama came up - cousins being angry at how aunts or brothers were reacting to the funeral, timing of showing up, lots of petty dumb shit. I could understand the frustrations and disbelief when I was there. The black-sheep of the family, my cousin Nathaniel, didn't show up for when the casket was being lowered into the grave. Just for the events of the days prior. He had told me and one of my brothers that he didn't like how grandpa looked during the funeral service. Some of the family chose to take him not showing up as disrespect. Even though Nate has been a tool to me when I was a kid, I've defended his position in not showing up.
It's done a lot for me religiously and life in general. A lot of the bigger decisions I make in life have me drifting off to thinking what my grandpa would think of it. Something my oldest brother Carlos, speaker at the funeral, said was that grandpa would often tell him and my cousins, all Portuguese-capable, that they should do whatever they want in life as long as it doesn't hurt them or others and makes them happy, and to never let anyone give them shit for it (swearing included). It's good advice, I think.
Okay, I definitely wrote more than I thought I would. But again, maybe this will turn out to be good for someone in finding a place to relate or share their experiences.
Aside from the curiosity on how people cope with it, and how religion does or does not come into play, I think it could generally do some good to relate things with one another. I think that's an important step in coping with just about anything in life - having people that understand to varying degrees, and can relate. One thing that I'll ask is that if anyone does turn to religion that others respect it and don't say they are wrong for doing so.
I lost my grandpa to a stroke in 2001, during my sophomore year in highschool. I forgot the exact date of the stroke itself (though I have it recorded in a journal), but he passed away on April 1st. As you can imagine, the first couple years following April Fool's Day wasn't much fun. Prior to his death, I had a sort of rebellion against my family in regard to religion. I was the typical angsty teen that blamed God for all my 'problems,' and swore off the religion. And then the stroke happened, and I started second guessing myself. After the phone call that Sunday, I turned to blaming myself for his death. That I was somehow being punished.
Years after, that's gone away. I'm religious, but I don't believe in a vengeful God.
The impact it had on me has been constant. Until that time, I had also sworn off my family as useless, out to get me, etc. And with that one phone call, I realized that there were exceptions to my views and the best of them was gone now. See, my grandpa is the one who decided to relocate my family (mom's side) to the United States in the 60's. Out there (the Azores, Portuguese islands), he had a mistress aside from my grandma. He had an accident on a motorcycle one day, and it changed his life. He spent every day, even here in the States as I was growing up, doing his best for my grandma to make it up to her. Through this he taught me the concept of repent, or showing sincerity in asking for forgiveness (not in the religious sense; worldly). I realized all this too late, and it's only after his death that he became an important figure in my life.
He had left for me, specifically (the youngest of his grandchildren), a ring he's had since he was my age. Unfortunately, it's way too big for me and I've left it with my grandma for the time being. When I graduated from highschool in 2003, my family had dinner at my grandmother's house. She saw that I was wearing a crucifix that she had given me when I was a kid, and started going on (in Portuguese, but I got the idea) about how it was not fitting of me anymore. She went to her box of little keepings, and brought out my grandpa's crucifix. Since that day, I've worn it every day when leaving the house. It's got a double meaning to it for me.
Another thing that helped me realize his importance in the family was that his funeral is the last time we had any sort of large family gathering. A lot of drama came up - cousins being angry at how aunts or brothers were reacting to the funeral, timing of showing up, lots of petty dumb shit. I could understand the frustrations and disbelief when I was there. The black-sheep of the family, my cousin Nathaniel, didn't show up for when the casket was being lowered into the grave. Just for the events of the days prior. He had told me and one of my brothers that he didn't like how grandpa looked during the funeral service. Some of the family chose to take him not showing up as disrespect. Even though Nate has been a tool to me when I was a kid, I've defended his position in not showing up.
It's done a lot for me religiously and life in general. A lot of the bigger decisions I make in life have me drifting off to thinking what my grandpa would think of it. Something my oldest brother Carlos, speaker at the funeral, said was that grandpa would often tell him and my cousins, all Portuguese-capable, that they should do whatever they want in life as long as it doesn't hurt them or others and makes them happy, and to never let anyone give them shit for it (swearing included). It's good advice, I think.
Okay, I definitely wrote more than I thought I would. But again, maybe this will turn out to be good for someone in finding a place to relate or share their experiences.
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My grandfather's death, however, was much more devastating. I can't comment on the religion aspect, as my personal faith was no shaken by it. People die all the time and I just couldn't see why I should suddenly rail against God simply because this death was personal.
I think I'm just better at dealing with the elderly dying. My friend's suicide, right before entering high school, is what really threw me for a loop. How death affects a person depends on such a large variety of factors. Even you can't really predict how you'll react when a person dies. Sometimes you just get taken by surprise.
But I do believe it's important to be aware of death. It's so easy to think that folks will be around forever.
I also tend to get really annoyed when people try to console with the "he/she is in a better place now". No, they're dead, and that person is gone. It sucks and of course people will be upset about it. Stop trying to fucking minimize their grief.
My maternal grandfather had been sick for years, probably since I was about 9 or 10. So when he died, finally, it was not a surprise. But he had donated his body to Jefferson Medical School, so we didn't even bury him until 3 years after his death, and even then it was just his ashes.
I thought that I could cope with death by simply filing it away, compartmentalizing it and my feelings about it. At least, until 2006.
In February, my maternal grandmother died in her sleep. It was sudden, unexpected, and a week after her 93rd birthday.
In April, my boyfriend's grandfather died from lung cancer. It was expected, but still very sudden, as he had only been diagnosed four months earlier.
May 31st, my best friend died from complications of Lupus. Kidney failure, high blood pressure, a stroke, a coma. That one was the most painful, and I still haven't gotten over it. He was 23.
December 18th, my uncle died. Heart attack.
And now? I still try to compartmentalize the grieving and the pain, but just about every 3 months or so, I have a sobbing meltdown which involves curling up in a ball and crying for about a day straight. Not very effective, but it helps keep me as sane as possible.
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In the case of the people that have passed, it's been my grandfather and my great uncle (who pretty much was my grandfather, since mom's father died long before I was born), and then my wife's grandfather and grandmother on one side.
With my grandpa, I was sad, but not overcome with grief. My great uncle had Alzheimer's, so he hadn't really been "around" for almost a decade when he finally died. It's more the people grieving that makes me sad than the death itself. The awkwardness mostly comes when I'm at funerals for people I barely knew (like my wife's grandparents), because I can't really relate to the grief, and I'm incredibly physically uncomfortable (in a suit or whatever), so I just feel odd and hope it ends quickly.
I'm saying they should maximize grief, just that "they're in a better place now" just strikes me as about the most asinine, lazy means of "supporting" a friend/family member who is grieving. It's such a goddamn cliche, and the meaning behind it suggests "You shouldn't be so upset, they're somewhere better now". People grieving are rarely upset *FOR* the dead person, they're grieving because someone they cared about is dead and gone and never coming back, and that sucks.
Anyways, one of my buddies who I won't name, upset the battalion commander, a newly promoted Lt. Col and was sent to another base. This was pretty upsetting, but then a few weeks later, I found that at the new base he was shot by a sniper in the back of the head, a luck shot, between the collar bone of the IBA and the bottom part of the ACH. It was so shocking. I didn't know what to do. Quickly afterwards, 3 other friends died. 2 to IED's and 1 to small arms fire. I knew 1 of them since high school, the others I went to basic and AIT with and we'd talk all the time about career ambitions and our goals.
This was around the same time that I was mortared approx 60-90 times in a span of 5-7hours. We had a VBIED blow up in front of one of our towers; the Iraqi's stole one of our blue water trucks, drained it out and filled it full of explosives. It detonated approx. 25m infront of the tower, spewing his remains across our FOB. I still remember, waking up the next day, walking to chow and seeing parts of a face or a foot/limb just laying there on the desert floor. One of my good friends who I still drink with to this day, was working in the command shack 20m from where a mortar destroyed the Iraqi's ice truck, shrapnel going through 3 layers of plywood and embedding itself roughly 4 inches above his head.
Near the end of this first tour, we had to take body's out for identification and inspection. I still can vividly remember going into the huge, connex size freezers, taking a body bag off a hanger, requiring 4 people to lift some of them, carrying them down a hall, opening them up and then the smell hits. Oh god the smell. That's not as bad as having to try to get an iris scan, or finger prints, or facial recognition and height and weight on the bodies. Horrible horrible memories that remind me of the sights and smells of those bodies.
I used to be pretty religious before, but after each of these events I went to the Chaplain for answers or guidance and he'd just quote the bible. It made me so angry, if I wanted to read or get answers from the bible I would've done it myself, I'm asking for guidance on how to handle things. What do I do? I'm not asking why it happened or what purpose it served, I was asking what do I do, how do I cope and keep going? They had no answers and I grew very angry at not only the Chaplain's, but then the priests/pastors/church when I came home and how no one could give me a decision. It felt like I was almost asking an english teacher how to solve this physics equation.
My dad was the only person who gave me any advice (he was a former marine). He told me, "the only way you can deal with this is either drown it out or live your life the best you can for these people. Sure it's shitty that your friends died, but what can you do about it now? If you try to drown it out, it will only ruin you." I still get nightmares about the whole first tour (the 2nd tour was much much easier) and I'll wake up in a pool of sweat but I'd be freezing.
Over the years since its been easier to cope with; I still hold tiny vigils around the anniversaries of their deaths, usually resulting in me going out and drinking a copious amount of alcohol and smoking a lot of cigarettes.
I would be a bit offended since it is so cliched that it comes off as impersonal.
EDIT: Holy shit, Evigilant.
He gave the example of a man grieving for his wife. He pointed out that everything horrible that the man was currently struggling with after her loss would have been something that she had to go through had he died first. So his grief could be framed as a price he paid to save her from the same suffering. This didn't alleviate the grief, but saved the man from despair.
The proposition that what is most destructive to our inner life is the idea that we suffer and our suffering is meaningless is one that has a lot of resonance with me.
I'm not sure how this makes just accepting it and continuing your own life rather than dwelling on it endlessly and bringing yourself down ineffective.
That's an interesting take on it.
I'm not sure I accept the premise that finding meaning in suffering entails dwelling on it endlessly. Or that the alternative to finding meaning is just shrugging and walking on down the road into a happy nihilistic sunset.
I'm not convinced it's all that abstract to find meaning in suffering. In this instance your suffering means that you are sad that someone you liked is dead. That's not terribly difficult.
Her mom blamed me for the whole thing, refused to invite any of her friends to the service, and to this day I have no idea where they laid her to rest. For the first four or five years after she passed, I'd make a trip back to our college on the anniversary and sneak up onto her favorite spot on the roof (almost got arrested in the process once), and I'd spend hours thinking about her and what could have been. I never really found any sense of closure about it, I just think about it less now that it's almost a decade in the past.
too depressing; didn't read: I lost someone I was in love with at an impressionable age.
In a way, losing someone I was so close to at such an early age has made it easier to cope with the losses that have followed. I've come to think of death as something that inevitably happens to everyone, so it isn't a shocking, traumatizing thing. I feel sad that I won't see that person again, and I feel sad that their story has ended in a sense, but it doesn't weigh on me too heavily or for too long anymore.
Which probably means I'm jaded, heh.
I relate to what Vincent said: I never know how to handle others who are going through loss, especially when it's someone we both knew. I wish I took death harder, because maybe then I could relate to others... as it is though, even when it's someone close to me, even when it's someone my own age, I just don't get sad the way I think I should.
If that is sufficient, fine. If not, then not.
I don't think either of us is trying to stand over someone while they deal with pain and yell "You're not doing it right!"
He did more for me than anyone else ever has in my life (with the exception of my ex-wife). My parents were terrible and unloving, but I was lucky enough to live across the street from him and my Grandmother, and having him nearby is probably the only saving grace I had. He essentially raised me because my parents were simply incapable of doing so. He taught me about life, and how to live. He told me stories about the war (WWII) and how it was an important thing they did, and how he wished we would never have to fight again. While he was a die-hard Republican (back before they went crazy) he told me that if there ever was a draft, that I should run to Canada if I felt the war was unjust.
When I first went to college, and came back because of a mix of mental issues, he was still there, offering me support. While my parents sought to demean me at every turn, he could always be counted on.
Most of my memories of him are of him working in his workshop (he was a part-time TV repairman), tinkering with some gadget or another, with a set of those workman's goggles perched on his head. When he ws 82 years old, hands shaking with age, he was determined to help me install a new car stereo. He did his crossword puzzle every day, read the newspaper, and did his assorted morning tasks (he called them his chores) every day. When he was 75 he single-handedly built his back porch, fully roofed with a sealed and insulated shed attached.
It is strange. After wandering (personally and career-wise) for a few years, I finally found my bearings, got engaged, and had a direction chosen, he passed away. He was out one December morning, doing his chores, and his heart stopped. His only companion was my lab, whom he loved to play with. He was found about a half-hour later by my grandmother.
It was the hardest, most emotionally wrenching week of my life. I cried, and cried and cried. I didn't rage at God, or at anybody, but I knew how much I lost and I also knew that I couldn't just bury it. Eventually, I didn't cry as much, nor choke up whenever I saw his picture, but the grief is still there. Now, even as I am typing this, I'm starting to tear up a little bit. I miss him terribly, but I never let the emotion of missing him interfere with my life. I am not a religious man, but if I happen to die and find myself meeting him again, I won't be disappointed.
I don't know if I considered my suffering as meaningful at the time. I just loved him, and he was no longer there for me to physically direct that love. I still love him just as much as I did then. The emotions seemed natural, and to deny them physical and emotional release just seems to be detrimental on so many levels.
Well, you did go ahead and dig up an obscure word to use to identify the way I've dealt with death as utter bullshit.
I say this because at 7am this morning, by maternal grandfather died in bed. His kidneys had failed two days ago and he was scheduled to be transferred to a hospice next week. We'd thought he would have another week or so, but it ended this morning.
So how do I feel? Right now, I don't really feel anything concrete. And not even in a 'numb' sense. I've got a swirl of emotions going right now, but I'm having difficulty deciding between 'sadness' and 'relief'. This is something we've seen coming for a couple years now, an eventuality that we knew we'd have to go through. Somehow, I'd always imagined being more broken up about it, but right now, I've got nothing.
This is a little disturbing to me, because I loved my grandfather. The only explanation I can think of is that I truly do feel that he's in a better place than he was just yesterday or even the last 2 years. For the last two years, senility had hit him hard. So hard, in fact, that the grandpa of my later years no longer resembled the big jovial man with a sharp wit and sense of humor that was the grandpa of my childhood. These last two years, it was almost like watching an impostor assume the role of someone I knew and loved.
This is nothing like when my great aunt died. Losing her crushed me when I was a teenager, mostly because I'd lived next door to her all my life. No matter what was going on, I could still go next door and see her and smell whatever pie she was baking that day. But she stayed coherent all her life, finally literally keeling over while sitting in bed after a day of visiting with the neighbors. She was old, old than my grandpa who just passed, but somehow her going hit me harder than him going.
I'm still waiting for it to hit me. I'm sure it'll happen soon, most likely at his funeral. But right now, I've got nothing. If anything, the sadness I'm feeling right now is for my grandma. But for my grandpa... I'm ambivalent right now because I can't decide whether to be sad that he's gone or relieved that he gets to leave the pain-wracked shell that he's become in the last 2 years.
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I don't know if they're trying to minimize it. People have their ways of offering comfort, and while the "in a better place" statement won't work for non-religious people, I think it should at least be taken into consideration that they're intent is for the better. They're not trying to be insulting.
Sometimes there are priests / pastors / etc who don't really stand as good representatives of the faith. If anyone here manages to meet, or already knows, a priest who can provide more than just quotes and offer explanation, cherish that individual. It means that they're a bit more worldly than just being godly.
That said, your dad offered probably the best advice that could be given. I haven't been in the armed forces myself, I've only known people who have been. My senior-year English teacher (who is an important figure in my life) said something similar to an alumni who lost friends in the military.
This was part of what made my grandpa's death hard on me. He had been in great health, aside from a couple heart attacks, up to the stroke he had. And for me, it felt unfair that such a strong man was being taken away from me. Like it was unwarranted, that he had no pain he was being relieved of. We visited him when he was in the hospital after the stroke, and my family was telling me that his memory was buggered and he couldn't even recognize us. But as we left the room, he was watching us leave, and I could just see it in his eyes... that he was fully aware of everything going on.
I want to say that when the elderly are actually afflicted with terrible health conditions it makes it easier to accept their passing, but I'm afraid of sounding insincere. All I can say is that if my grandpa had been in such a state, I would be happy that he wouldn't have to suffer anymore and he had been living a good life and fufilled what he was aiming for (I could say 'meant to,' but that would imply a 'God has a plan' answer that I have never myself bought into).
The best you can do for your grandma is to be there for her. I would see it as an opportunity to give back some of whatever she's done for you as you grew up.
Weirdly enough, my mother's mother died a few years back, and my father's mother died this past Christmas. Neither one affected me that badly, particularly my father's... she had been in failing health for over a year (died at 95), so it was more of a blessing.
More odd... animals dying absolutely crushes me. When our hamster died recently, I cried for days. To be honest though, I think part of that was that I held him while he died, powerless to help. I still look at the spot where his cage sat on my wife's dresser and get pretty upset.
So yea.. I guess I don't know how I cope. It is bizarre, but I am not sure if all the people dying in my young life made me a bit more understanding, or that I just have had so few people die as I got older.
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When I was in high school, two girl's who I knew sister's had each comitted suicide. I felt bad when I saw their friends shocked, sobbing, and bewildered. I did not really know how to console them.
However, I get the feeling if something should ever happen to a person who I truly care for( besides family)... I will not be able to deal with it and just go crazy.
But Ive realized a big part of it is the feelings of the people Im leaving behind. If I have a wife, what will her life be like once Im gone? Its a miserable thought and Id love to hear peoples ways of coping with the terrifying dreadful inevitable
My kids already know about it (they're 3 and 5), and generally seem to understand pretty well what it means, and why it happens. We've never tried to hide it from them though (unlike some parents who I've overheard telling their kids that something is "just sleeping" and that blood is "just ketchup"), so I think they're fairly well-adjusted to it. Both of them have expressed some degree of sadness over the loss of their great grandparents on my wife's father's side, but never to the point of really crying about it.
This is something I was actually intending on asking here, and in a future thread I'm making up in my head over the last week on how parents do / say things to kids (that is, in a discussion manner of what is best).
Any parents here, how do you or did you explain the concept of death to your children? When I try to think about how I would handle it, I kinda get hung up on it. I'm afraid of telling my kids what I believe (y'know, heaven) and them growing up to find out religion doesn't have to be their way of life and thus hating me for it.
I have no beliefs about death beyond the obvious (people die, they're gone, you miss them), so I pretty much just told my kids exactly that. They know people die, and they're suitably sad about it, but they don't much dwell on it. Occasionally my older daughter will see a picture of her great grandparents around the house and remark that she misses them and wishes they were still alive. My in-laws have given them the "they're in heaven" speech, but they seem to have largely ignored it and taken my word for it that dead is dead.
I'm generally of the mindset that if I think they can understand something, I just tell them the truth, although I never go out of my way to discuss any religious type stuff (mostly because I'm the only atheist in a household full of believers of varying degrees, and as much as I'm no fan of religion, I'd rather not put my kids in a position to think either daddy, or everyone else, is completely wrong about something people tend to be sensitive about)
edit: Regarding telling your kids what you believe, I don't think they'd hate for you that. Being open and honest and discussing things (at the appropriate age) is a good thing. If you were to force your beliefs on them or demand they take part in rituals/church that belong to your particular belief, and they grew up feeling differently, that might breed resentment, but that's completely different than just telling them how you feel/believe (imo).
My mum phoned me to let me know when he'd passed away- I was walking along a main road with my boyfriend and she kept breaking up- all I heard to start with was "...'s died." It was a sudden heart attack as much as anyone could tell.
The funeral, nothing. Completely blank. The wake, nothing. It felt fake, in a way- I couldn't understand or empathise with the tears around me. But when the inheritance came, I was stuck in a real financial rut and had to use it to help with my university course for equipment. Then it really hit me that my granddad was gone and I had nothing beyond a few books to remember him.
Here my boyfriend really helped- he pointed out that what would my granddad have wanted me to have more? An education and a better life or some flashy memento. Which was true and helped me put everything in perspective.
On the other hand, I find it very hard to deal with other people's grief. One of my friends lost her mother to cancer several years ago and marks out so many days- x years since her birthday x years since I spoke to her x years since the funeral. I understand it's terrible to lose a parent. But it's been four/five years and she still constructs her life around the loss, drinks heavily on an everyday basis, and has delusions of having become a psychic ( claiming her mother has visited her through her cat, in dreams, or as a ghost). I understand she's still grieving. But I feel horribly guilty about my sympathy having run dry.
And I'm sorry for your loss.
I think it was one of the things that led me to being such a staunch atheist.
Dying is just like General Anaesthesia IMO (which I've experienced), a dreamless sleep, except one from which you will never wake.
The one death however, that really effected me recently, was actually a random stranger on the internet whom I had never met in person. She was going thru a lot of the same shit I am, and I looked up to her as a role model, someone who was 'making it' so to speak. She ended up committing suicide a few months ago, for these same issues, and it hit me hard to see someone who I thought was strong had fallen. It was definitely a feeling of "that could easily be me". It was also hard that many of my other heroes right around the same time had fallen (not thru suicide, thankfully), but it all really threw in to question whether I would be able to handle this or not.
Right now my mom is dying of pancreatic cancer (weeks or a few months) and I am NOT coping.
Like, my emotions are bottled up and my brain refuses to accept it.
Meanwhile I'm pretty sure my anti-emo pills are affecting my ability to feel the amount of emotion I should be feeling.
But it doesn't get rid of all the regret and shame I have over not being a better child.
I think it was Jung who said that the mind's purpose is to project meaning onto a meaningless universe.
I agree with you, in case it wasn't clear. Shit happens, the universe is apathetic to our well-being, and it's up to us to sort it out and make sense of it all.
the "no true scotch man" fallacy.
This was my first real experience with loss of a loved one and cannot imagine how hard it must be to lose a child now.
That's one thing that scares me the most about death. I won't anything that I've built up over my life. No memories, no personality, no individuality. It will be like I never lived. That's what keeps me up until 4 am every night. Recently I've been looking at it like this: death isn't a mystery. It's not unknown. We've all been there before we were born. It's simply nothing, but that's the natural state of all things. It's not that we're moving into the unknown, we're just returning to normal, I suppose. That gives me a little bit of peace, at least.
"Whatever has value in our world now does not have value in itself, according to its nature — nature is always value-less, but has been given value at some time, as a present — and it was we who gave and bestowed it." ~ Friedrich Nietzsche.
Someday, all electrochemical activity in my brain will cease, my body will wither and rot; and long after my grave has been eroded by time & vanished, the carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and other elements that I am composed of will eventually return to the sun, from whence they came.
Born of starstuff, only to return. We are but a mote in the universe's eye. :rotate:
I am terrified of death because I don't want my death to make anyone sad... I guess that's what I want to believe. I suppose I really hope that someone cares enough to actually be saddened by my death. Which is sorta why I try to be friends with everyone. I don't want to have a single person think ill of me when I'm gone.