Me, around age 5, and a dead guinea pig. One of my introductions to mortality.
It was dinner time, and I commented to my brother that his guinea pig, appropriately named Squeakers, looked cute while he was sleeping.
“I don’t think he’s sleeping.”
When I think of that guinea pig, the few moments of someone lifting him up to confirm his demise is burned in my mind.
When our family dog died, I wasn’t present when she was put down and my parents told me that if I were to see the dead body, that it would be all I would remember of her.
I witnessed a fatal plane crash at age 7 during an aviation show. I didn’t know why everyone was distraught, and was largely confused as black smoke emerged from the horizon. I didn’t receive much of an answer from my parents as we drove back home.
These events of my early childhood didn’t fully sink in until I considered my own mortality. I can’t explain why exactly, but as I was in the bathroom with the DVD of Shrek 3 playing in the living room, I realized that one day I would die. I could just feel this dark hole form in the core of my being, and I think about Rosa Parks… long story (this is still a prevalent issue every time I think about my personal mortality). At night as I tried going to sleep, I started doing jumping jacks to make sure my heart didn’t slow down too much. I would close my eyes and hold my breath and think ‘this is what being dead would feel like’. I sincerely panicked as my brother notified me that one day the sun would explode. My goal as a child was to one day be the oldest person alive, though I did see the downsides of being truly immortal (do not want to be around when the sun explodes, of course).
While I can’t exactly prevent myself from being mortal, the only solution seems to be to avoid thinking about it.
Throughout all four of my grandparents’ deaths, I was never present in the final moments, never told much detail, never saw an open casket.
I am conflicted on whether or not this constant distance and avoidance of dealing with mortality benefited me or not. I just think about seeing that dead guinea pig and how it is unfortunate that I can only remember that animal’s death, and not its life. Maybe it is my own doing, since I actively remembered those moments. If I were to see my dog, my grandparents, or one day my cats or other relatives, as they lay dying- how could that not be what I think of first? Is this a bad thing? Did or will I miss some sort of closure?
At present, the only way I am comfortable with mortality is when I think of it as an object, or as something that only happens to others. I am fine dissecting animals in biology class or watching it on The Brain Scoop, I love taxidermy in museums, I am fine watching and reading about Caitlin Doughty’s mortician-related work. Perhaps because I don’t know any of those animals or people personally, I can detach it from myself.
But if I think too hard and consider death as something that could happen to me, I just go right back to that unpleasant dark, hollow feeling.
I’m not sure that there is some grand takeaway from this post, but I just had some thoughts I needed to write out. I’d love to hear your viewpoints.
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