An Unacceptable Death
As a person of moderate situation, education and experience, I have never feared death. Probably because no one really close to me has died. Well just one, my grandfather on dad’s side, but since I wasn’t there for his burial, I am still sometimes smiling at him. So he is not really gone.
I have relatives or friends who died, but for some reason their death has passed through me. Am I a robot? Probably not. Just somebody who is good at compartmentalizing. And probably also somebody mature enough, who thinks that by crying over some dead body, I would not be mourning the person who passed away, but myself, wondering how will I ever be able to cope with life without that someone dear to me. I see it as a matter of egoism. The person who dies starts a journey. Even if there is nothing else after death, except for nothingness, that person gets to experience all that, finally answer the big question.
Therefore I haven’t been afraid of death, because I have always looked at it from the perspective of the dying.
In the past year, however, another perspective has started to reveal itself to me – that of the living. Not that up till now, I wasn’t living, but because up to now I hadn’t really found that person that makes living interesting, worth experimenting, discovering. I have met a great deal of great people in my life and I am ever thankful for it. They are intricate pieces of a Pollock puzzle. While it’s been a delicious torment to go through it, I didn’t really have that person to admire it all with and, maybe, crack a few jokes about its madness.
Now I finally have. A person who makes sense of Pollock’s madness. That makes death unacceptable just yet.