I had hoped you'd see my face; and that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over.
I found out today that a wonderful man took his own life on Wednesday. I never knew him--he was a friend of my aunt's. But through her, I understand that he was gentle, generous, and sweet. Nobody saw it coming. His death was tragic, poetic, and devastatingly sad for many, many people. Through this experience--talking with my aunt about it, seeing her cry about a man she hardly knew--I realized that every soul makes its own individual ripple through the universe; and when it's taken from us, even if we didn't know the person, we can't help but be sad. It's that deep part in our psyche that tells us, still, that we should be loving everyone we come in contact with, no matter how rotten or unbearably sweet that person may be.
It also made me look at myself. I've had many times--countless, even--that I've been suicidal. I've plotted my own death many times. In those times, it brought comfort--the idea of peace. Now that I've seen how this man's death has affected me (I almost started crying, myself, and I had never met the guy), I realize that had I taken my own life, there would have been so many people--some that I don't even know--who would have been devastated. It's my own individual ripple in the universe that would have brought sadness to those knew me and those who only knew of me. It makes me glad that I've never gone through with it because I would never want to cause anyone this deep of a sadness. It makes everyone wonder who will be next in their universe. This is not my saying that what he did was selfish or intentional on making people sad. He most likely was not thinking about all the people he was hurting through his death. My aunt keeps asking, wondering whether she could have done or said something that could have made a difference. Who knows. We couldn't ever know, and we shouldn't beat ourselves up about it because it will drive us mad. But we still wonder because of that quiet, hidden love that we hide deep inside ourselves until it's too late.
I couldn't help but be reminded of my cousin's death back in 2002. He was only 18, a recent high school graduate. He was killed by a head on collision that was caused by someone looking in their backseat for a CD while drifting into the wrong lane. His brain was swollen, so he was a vegetable for a while before the hard decision was made to pull the plug and say goodbye. At his funeral, I tried to remember the last time I had spoken to him. I couldn't even remember if I had ever said that I loved him. It was from that experience that I learned to tell people I loved them whenever I felt I needed to because I never know when they're going to be gone--lost from that opportunity. This world is cruel in that aspect. We're so fragile. We don't ever think about it until we get sick or face a too-violent situation. But every moment we breathe is a chance to die, so we ought to acknowledge those we love so that they know--they never question--that we loved them.
Switching topics a little (not to make light of the situation, but just because I'm so proud of it) I wrote a poem earlier that, at first, was just a silly little thing to write about what was going on in the mountains today (there was a huge fire). But once I had written it and reread it, I found that it was almost a political poem, as well. I have to say, it's beautifully written (not to brag). Here it is:
A fire burns
In a place of
Most importance
To the people
A haze blocks
Our vision
Our hope of sight
Orange concrete
Splashed with blue,
Engulfing shadows
Warm and windy
Intoxicating and
Suffocating
Breathe in
Cough out
How beautiful
Our land
Has
Become.
It also made me look at myself. I've had many times--countless, even--that I've been suicidal. I've plotted my own death many times. In those times, it brought comfort--the idea of peace. Now that I've seen how this man's death has affected me (I almost started crying, myself, and I had never met the guy), I realize that had I taken my own life, there would have been so many people--some that I don't even know--who would have been devastated. It's my own individual ripple in the universe that would have brought sadness to those knew me and those who only knew of me. It makes me glad that I've never gone through with it because I would never want to cause anyone this deep of a sadness. It makes everyone wonder who will be next in their universe. This is not my saying that what he did was selfish or intentional on making people sad. He most likely was not thinking about all the people he was hurting through his death. My aunt keeps asking, wondering whether she could have done or said something that could have made a difference. Who knows. We couldn't ever know, and we shouldn't beat ourselves up about it because it will drive us mad. But we still wonder because of that quiet, hidden love that we hide deep inside ourselves until it's too late.
I couldn't help but be reminded of my cousin's death back in 2002. He was only 18, a recent high school graduate. He was killed by a head on collision that was caused by someone looking in their backseat for a CD while drifting into the wrong lane. His brain was swollen, so he was a vegetable for a while before the hard decision was made to pull the plug and say goodbye. At his funeral, I tried to remember the last time I had spoken to him. I couldn't even remember if I had ever said that I loved him. It was from that experience that I learned to tell people I loved them whenever I felt I needed to because I never know when they're going to be gone--lost from that opportunity. This world is cruel in that aspect. We're so fragile. We don't ever think about it until we get sick or face a too-violent situation. But every moment we breathe is a chance to die, so we ought to acknowledge those we love so that they know--they never question--that we loved them.
Switching topics a little (not to make light of the situation, but just because I'm so proud of it) I wrote a poem earlier that, at first, was just a silly little thing to write about what was going on in the mountains today (there was a huge fire). But once I had written it and reread it, I found that it was almost a political poem, as well. I have to say, it's beautifully written (not to brag). Here it is:
A fire burns
In a place of
Most importance
To the people
A haze blocks
Our vision
Our hope of sight
Orange concrete
Splashed with blue,
Engulfing shadows
Warm and windy
Intoxicating and
Suffocating
Breathe in
Cough out
How beautiful
Our land
Has
Become.
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