A corpse at my door

I’m a bit disturbed today. When I woke up, my mother told me that my best friend’s father had died. She had recently told me that he was in the hospital and wasn’t okay. Today, he died.

I went outside to have coffee with a friend. As I was leaving the building, where he was lying on the ground. Lifeless. A corpse at my door. How odd.

How fragile is life? One second and you’re gone. Today, her father died but it could’ve been mine or yours. There’s this disquiet within me. This fear and melancholy.

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He died on a beautiful, sunny day. His departure made this day sadder and his family poorer. Dying is like diving into a sea of oblivion. At least that’s how I imagine it.

It’s hard to imagine something so mysterious. We sometimes forget death, until it happens to someone you know. Then it’s there, it’s real. Almost palpable.

So therefore in the course of nature once we have ceased to see magic in the world anymore, we’re no longer fulfilling nature’s game of being aware of itself. There’s no point in it and so we’re done. And so something else comes which gets an entirely new point of view. It is therefore not natural for us to wish to perpetuate life indefinitely, but we live in a culture where it has been rubbed into us in every conceivable way that to die is a terrible thing. And that is a tremendous disease from which our culture in particular suffers.

-Alan Watts

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On days when someone dies, I like to think about that. How it could be a release and the beginning of something new. Something to be celebrated and seen in a peaceful way. See it as just another step in our journey. But it’s hard. We bond with people and most of us have a very special bond with our parents. You never want to see them go.  It’s hard and counterintuitive to celebrate death but the paradigm will shift. It always does. We just don’t know how or when. Until then, we will continue to see death as dark and mysterious. As a tragedy.

 

Images courtesy of Pixabay.

 

 

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The hardest post I have ever written

My friend J. committed suicide tonight. We were together until 9 pm and by 9:30, he was gone.

He was the person I mention on my last post. I was the last friend to see him alive.

I feel perplexed, in disbelief and numb. Right now, as I write this, I am listening to one of his favorite bands, Pearl Jam. It’s comforting. It’s like we are still together. I am still in shock so J’m sorry if I ramble.

We were close friends, I have so many good memories of him. He was that bohemian, dreamer friend. He was kind, funny and cultured. We enjoyed walking on the beach and going to random cafés. He was a tango dancer, he just loved it.

As I write this, I keep thinking that he is alive and then I remember the traumatic event that happened yesterday. It’s a weird duality, knowing that someone is dead but forgetting about it. Only to realize, a few seconds later that it did happen, that he is no longer with us.

He was a tango dancer, he loved milongas and that scene. How I will miss him, he is a great loss for the world. He truly made the world a better place.

This could have been avoided, if only there was no mental health stigma. He had mood swings. Went from being very excited and happy, to being utterly depressed. He refused to see a psychiatrist or take medication. The stigma kills. Many people refuse to acknowledge that they have mental health conditions. They feel that doing that is accepting that they are a lesser person, that they are crazy. I’m in no way criticizing him. He had his own reality tunnel, like we all do. I wish I could’ve helped him see that there is no shame in taking medication or being diagnosed. I told him many times, when he was suffering, that he didn’t need to suffer like that. We need to put ourselves out there, for J. and other people with similar paths, and let people know that it’s okay to have a mental health condition. That it’s okay to ask for help. We need to change this paradigm. It’s slowly changing, I can see that. That gives me hope.

8 hours ago, we were having coffee and talking. We talked about life and death, oddly enough. I keep reliving those hours in my head, wondering if I said something that upset him. He said that he would go out with me after dinner, if my boyfriend was too tired. I wonder if we had gone out, would he still be alive. That is going to haunt me. It is already haunting me.

He was a free-spirit. There is something really wrong with this society that young, healthy people seal their fate this way.

I will miss him immensely. My dear companion of adventures and good days. My confidant and kindred spirit. One of the few people I know that would grab a backpack and travel to other places, completely alone. I admired his courage and independence.

In one of our last conversations, he told me he would love to go Buenos Aires and dance. I will picture him there. I will tell myself that he is in Buenos Aires, dancing with a beautiful South American girl.

Image by pixundfertig, courtesy of Pixabay.