Death has been on my mind lately. Allow me to say first and foremost: this is not a call for help. I do no wish to due, and I hope that it happens very far in the future, after I've lived a long and happy life. If I've made some sort of positive difference in the world, all the better. On the other hand, if this makes you wish to talk, for any reason whatsoever, I'd absolutely love to. Not merely because I love to talk about my writing; but as this is a topic better discussed than allowed to linger freely and ferment within one's mind.
As I write this, it is late January, but truth be told, death has been on my mind since December. December, month of Hanukkah (usually), Christmas, endings, beginnings, solstice (depending upon which hemisphere you happen to find yourself in), and New Year's Eve. Before I delve into why this month has formed a connection with death, I must admit I have been quite lucky. My nuclear family is all well, as well as all of my grandparents. Hell, one of them is still skiing at the age of eighty - if I'm half as nimble and youthful as he is at that age, I'll be a ridiculously happy man. On the other hand, both deaths I have been forced to deal with occurred around this time of year, forging the unhappy and unfortunate connection.
(A disclaimer: there will be some minimal detail of the manner of the deaths, as well as how I know the deceased. I will not use names. Some of you may have met one, or maybe even both. If for any reason you are troubled by anything here, please, tell me. I will edit and censor myself as necessary. I do not wish to offend anyone, and should it happen, I apologize in advance)
I met A very early on my military service. We served together in the same section, which ranged between twenty and thirty men and women, give or take. While I can't say we were particularly close, it's hard not to know someone in your section. His brilliance couldn't be doubted. He was a an extremely talented software engineer and architect, and for most of our acquaintance, he toiled away on a though and innovative project hampered be half-baked technology. On some level, the project died with him; while he was gone in a bang, the project died off in a whimper, but it was never the same without him.
Perhaps the only thing more pronounced about A than his talent was his cynical attitude. Yet, as dark and critical as he was, there was no sign A was going to take his own life. The act and the manner in which is was done shocked us all, and if the writing was on the wall, we didn't have the sense to read it. Those who were closer to A must have felt a far stronger sadness in their hearts - for whatever troubled him, I know not how much he shared. I can't claim to the most emphatic person I know, and yet, a terrible sadness struck me as well. How could I not know someone I interacted with daily, consulted with when I was stuck, or shared a snack with when hunger struck, had such demons within him.
In the aftermath, I first experienced the different manners in which people deal with death. Some took it head on, and preferred to talk about the sorrow and grief with those around. Others attempted to put it away, get back to work, and quarantine their pain to deal with by themselves. Other few dealt with it in a manner A himself might have, on some level, using dark humor, with hushed tones and sadness in their eyes. Myself, I can't honestly remember how I managed. I was far less emotional mature than I am now (which is saying something), and this may very well be the first time I sit to ponder this loss.
Up until this year, I have never missed the memorial service. As the years passed, it turned into somewhat of a somber reunion. While the context is undoubtedly awful, it is the only time I see many of my old colleagues from the section. Life moves on, as it always has and always will, and I feel that the ability to empower the memorial as a reunion of sorts is a testament to our strength, to adapt and grow. We do not forget, but nor do we linger.
(As an aside, I can't imagine anyone is surprised, but I'm the last of A's section colleagues to be in some sort of military service, other than our section head at the time, who currently in a military career. While other representatives from the unit certainly come, I felt that as someone who was and still is there, it's even more important for me to attend the memorial services, both for his family as well as for myself.)
I missed the memorial as I'm traveling to South America (which you almost certainly know if you happen to be reading this). In an odd and unusual twist of fate, I'm closer than I've ever been to where the second person I've known to die lost her life. I barely knew N, to be honest. We also met in the army, but while I spent close to a year in the same section with A, N was only around for a few months, and only on the same floor as I was - we never worked together at all. It was a very different sort of tragedy; from the little I knew her, N clearly loved life and all it had to offer, and she was eager to live, explore, and see the world. She perished in a terrible hiking accident, the details of which I don't exactly know and don't think are very relevant.
As I truly barely knew her, I can't quite say what drove me to go to the funeral. I imagine on some level it was the nature of the death, a life cut short; on another, it was a sense of duty, as my section was on the same floor as hers, and I felt that someone from our section must be there. Perhaps it was for the many people I know who knew her better, and were sure to be there. Most of all, it was the impression she made, and the tragedy of a life lost prematurely. I can't say the first death prepared me to deal with the second one, on no level. However, I was far more mature at the time, and knew how to deal with my and my friends' emotions better.
Like life itself, I truly can't say this post carries a meaning, a logical conclusion, or even really much of a point. However, realizing these deaths came close to each other on the calendar, and that within a month I might be at the same national park as N was, I felt I had to get my thoughts and emotions out there. I have no idea how I'll feel once I'm there, or how might I handle death the next time it strikes in my life. Be that as it may, I feel more mature and more prepared than I've ever been before, to the extent one can be to deal with this level of grief.
Once again, if this makes you want to talk, about anything, I'm all ears, and (figuratively, unless you're in Chilean Patagonia) here for you. If not with me, share your thoughts with someone else, or with a pen and paper. Don't let these thoughts crawl in your head unimpeded.
Thank you for reading.
Rest in peace, A and N.
