<when your parents die, there is a feeling of a protective line between you and death falling away. and there you are - now the grown-up- facing death and its army of terminal weapons straight on, and standing in front of your own children.
Then the person next to you falls, and you realize, damn, they've started shooting.>
That's how I felt too.
Having had two children at serious risk of being dead from cancer, <she said, after you lose a child, there is nothing left to be afraid of. > I don't think I'd want to outlive any of my offspring.
People dying seems such a waste. We spend decades learning how things work, not knowing it all, but getting to know more of our way around the maze and understanding the operating system, only to be tossed in the recycling bin.
I suppose humans can live a long time because over thousands of years, the waste of people dying young pushed evolution to have us stick around longer. But it's still not long enough. I always feel robbed of the people who have died. Each death leaves a permanent hole, with memories rattling around, increasingly, as jfred says, to be rattling only in our own minds if we live long enough and all we knew has gone. Then maybe it's time to go. But then, who would be first?
Thanks for telling us Penni.
Mqurice
[Catching up having come from the scary Halloween "jumping out" picture - which made the hair stand up on me even though I was ready. I've never been one for scary stuff. The real thing is almost prosaic by comparison - just don't wake up one day, or even in an accident perhaps don't have time to think or be scared; strange]
PS: Here's Jake, born 2 November = my brother's first grandchild and first of that generation for my siblings [Tarken is our son in Japan, who didn't die from lymphoma, and he put the photos there - click to enlarge] blog.livedoor.jp |
