Grandpa had died without too much warning, but he happened to be in the hospital at the time so it wasn't scary to hang out in his apartment. I had kind of feared we would spend the whole 3 days cleaning the apartment, and that's actually what happened but it turned into a cross between Antiques Roadshow and Borat.
As I read through the Christmas letters I had written him in years past, I realized something about myself. I really do have a difficult time finishing what I start. It was something my husband accused me of many years ago, and now and then couples in movies will hurl that at one another.
During the funeral I pondered that with Grandfather's passing, my father stood next on the precipice. I realized that I no longer fear death because of the darkness and unknown. I respect death because it will mark the end of my opportunity to serve the living. Beneath the reaper's hood is a vigorous bearded guy with a stopwatch saying "carpe diem, the frost is coming!"
Posted by Survivor (Member # 213) on :
Now that's kinda a cool image to add to my shinigami collection.
I'm just the opposite, I have a hard time starting something I don't feel confident of finishing. That doesn't mean that I don't push myself to do it pretty often
Posted by Pyre Dynasty (Member # 1947) on :
This reads like a first 13. Perhaps you should start your memoirs with it. I also feel the reaper staring me in the face (last year was rife with funerals) But I'm still in the deer in the headlights mode and can't get myself to move. (I hope it's just two motorcycles.)
Posted by hoptoad (Member # 2145) on :
Franc Li,
For what its worth, I like what you write -- dude.
(Added the dude so it didn't sound weird.)
Posted by franc li (Member # 3850) on :
I probably will write about the 5 years that marked the passing of all 4 of my grandparents someday. Of course, it doesn't make a lot of sense right now. My 12-step recovery memoir was sort of about the first 3, but I didn't know at the time that number 4 was about to go. Also, I kind of turned the second death into someone else's funeral that made more sense in terms of the compulsive behavior I was recovering from. (No, not my mother, someone who actually is dead.)
