Tuesday, February 23, 2010
they tell me you're no more
two deaths in two weeks. and a reminder of another one from almost 25 years ago that i'd never thought too much about. in these were gone a mother, a young employee, a friend.
what's the appropriate response to death?
why are we so oblivious of it? is it defence? is it stupidity?
or is it plain and utter nonunderstanding of this physical phenomenon?
i feel the mother's death through all the feelings of my own mother's. i feel the employee's death because she was so young, so wanting to live, so lovely on that 26 december of 2007 when she came home to give my daughter a christmas gift, her long black hair shiny and healthy, perfume in the air, she was off to a party. five days later, everything changed.
and my friend. dear angela in her boy's clothes with her cigarette, her bright eyes, her loony smile, and that lovely line: hi, i'm angela, but call me bill. she was the first openly gay person i'd met and she was our english honours batch mate. we were five of us. last night i spoke to one i'd not been in touch with for nearly 31 years. somewhere in the middle of telling each other about old husbands and young children she asked, where's angela?
she's no more or so i hear.
no, that's sad. softly, gently.
yes, finally, it struck me. yes, sad. i miss the girl who walked through the floods to get me cigarettes. i miss the girl who wrote me a love letter. i miss the girl who was my class mate, my friend. can't find her anywhere. not even on google.
yes, it is sad about billy.
what's the appropriate response to death?
why are we so oblivious of it? is it defence? is it stupidity?
or is it plain and utter nonunderstanding of this physical phenomenon?
i feel the mother's death through all the feelings of my own mother's. i feel the employee's death because she was so young, so wanting to live, so lovely on that 26 december of 2007 when she came home to give my daughter a christmas gift, her long black hair shiny and healthy, perfume in the air, she was off to a party. five days later, everything changed.
and my friend. dear angela in her boy's clothes with her cigarette, her bright eyes, her loony smile, and that lovely line: hi, i'm angela, but call me bill. she was the first openly gay person i'd met and she was our english honours batch mate. we were five of us. last night i spoke to one i'd not been in touch with for nearly 31 years. somewhere in the middle of telling each other about old husbands and young children she asked, where's angela?
she's no more or so i hear.
no, that's sad. softly, gently.
yes, finally, it struck me. yes, sad. i miss the girl who walked through the floods to get me cigarettes. i miss the girl who wrote me a love letter. i miss the girl who was my class mate, my friend. can't find her anywhere. not even on google.
yes, it is sad about billy.
