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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.

Based on Milton Avery’s Girl With Cello 

Teacher’s Kid.
Perched in the backseat
“I want to play cello”
sitting, right angle
feet planted, praying mantis
two bodies merging
into one sound.
Balancing the musical equation,
I never learned bass clef.
Good Boys Doing Fine or otherwise.
Breaking and Entering.
The porridge is either
too old fashioned or too advanced.

 
Based on Doug Jeck’s Angel

Tourist of Heaven.
Dead weight in Sunday School,
ankles crossed,
hand open,
the body of christ,
tiny cups of grape juice.
Grafted into something,
never baptized.
Naked in your dream,
pretending to understand
the end of the world.
2012. Hobby Lobby.
Do you believe in God?
We haven’t talked about it since.