Death Envy

So, I've been experiencing a fascinating psychological phenomena: I have recently noticed that, when presented with someone diagnosed with a terminal disease, I feel envious. This is not a rational construct I have chosen, but rather a subconsciously driven mindset I am struggling to understand.

I have been around health care facilities enough to have more than a passing familiarity with sickness and death (though I, myself, have always enjoyed sound health), and it is never pretty. Illness is ugly and brutal, and I don't underestimate that for a second, nor do I aspire to suffering. So, what is it, then?

Maybe I envy the knowledge of when and how the end will come. I'm not such a control freak that I obsess about this much, but, in an odd way, I suspect this immediate understanding of the ephemeral nature of life would be reassuring, somehow.

Perhaps my perception is that people with terminal illness are no longer held to the same standard of societal participation in work and bills, and instead spend their final days really living, eating picnic lunches, writing poetry, flying kites, and whatnot. Academically, I know this is far removed from reality, but that is what happens on TV, isn't it?

Ultimately, I know neither of those reasons are very accurate, and I am left with the realization that I still desperately miss Cat - So much so that I would be happier to know I would be with her again soon than I would be saddened by my own bad news.

Every day's a gift...

© Abra Cadaver 2007

The Lives (and Deaths) of Others: Post Secret

An extremely frustrating aspect of living with loss is the feeling of isolation that inevitably follows. Given society's reluctance to discuss death and people's encouragement to 'move on' and 'get over it', the grieving are left with little of the normalization and validation that comes from knowing others have felt and do feel similarly in similar circumstances - To know you are not alone.

A fascinating internet project has caught my eye as potentially the purest possible source of nakedly open, shared reality: PostSecret.com. In a nutshell, the creator of the site has invited the world to anonymously share a secret via homemade postcard, which he then posts online. (Inundated with response, he is only able to post a fraction of what he gets). Each day, a new selection is offered.

The results are alternatively shocking, poignant, hilarious, unsettling, touching, and reassuring, but are always very raw and very real. Provided the anonymous forum and the opportunity for artistic self-expression (via the homemade postcard), PostSecret's correspondents have returned hundreds of thousands of overwhelmingly honest sentiments.

Often, these sentiments are about a loss or a death, and how it has affected the correspondent. Many, such as the card attached, are not the obvious, maudlin response one might expect, but a surprising and individual articulation of the universality of loss.

I suspect these confessions may be of more value to the bereaved than all of the grief counseling in the self-help section of your major booksellers. Reading the pure, unadulterated, unadorned, feelings of others suffering a loss is much more useful than most of the platitudes we are all inundated with.

Be warned: These confessions are very raw, and not often happy-happy or upbeat. Neither is life or loss, however, which is why, I suspect, I have managed to find some tiny amount of comfort visiting this site.

© Abra Cadaver 2007

Eternal Embrace - Living with Lost Love

Sometimes, when lovers coo words of longing and love to one another, they say they will love each other forever. Romantic hearts swoon at the ideal of eternal love, and can see no other possibility than being forever united with their love. But what should happen if the lovers be separated by death?

Let me tell you, this is a wrinkle. I am still deeply in love with Cat, though she is no longer here. Many would say that, so long as her memory is strong in my heart, she will always be here in spirit. Be this as it may, her spirit does not keep me very warm at night, and her memory is not a very good conversationalist.

Absolutely no one would fault me for 'moving on' and finding someone new. Indeed, most would be relieved - "Finally, now I won't have to hear about that dead girl anymore..." I have been encouraged by one and all to 'keep living', to 'move on', and to 'find somone new'. I am young, they argue, and would Cat really want me to be alone for the rest of my life?

No, she wouldn't, but then, she didn't want to die, either. If I have learned one thing in life this, it is that you can't always get what you want. (Thanks, Mick and Keith). I don't want to be alone and in love with a dead girl, I want to be with a live Cat and in love with her. But that was not meant to be.

So I remain, loving one no longer here. It is as if I died on the day she passed - I no longer dream, no longer look to the future with hope, but for the knowledge that I, too, shall pass, and once again be with Cat. This world has been stripped of all I cared about.

I try to keep going, keep moving, and making plans for the future, but I am just going through the motions. I don't really care anymore. Even if I were selfishly motivated to find someone to mitigate my lonliness, who would want to be with someone who feels this way? Not the most attractive quality.

Regardless, I would not ever put some poor girl through that. Can you imagine being second best to a dead girl? She was pretty great in life, I'll tell you, but in death, she can do no wrong. Practically deified in my mind, she would be a pretty tough act to follow.

Ultimately, I am not prevented from finding a new love by social opinion, concerns for the feelings of the new person, my state of mourning (you'd be surprised how attractive it seems to be), or even fear of betraying Cat. It is my own heart that ties me to this girl I can no longer touch. I am bound to her for all time, and is that so wrong? If ever there was a creature that inspired and deserved such devotion, it is she.

Wedding vows say ''til death do us part', but I say that is easier said than done when you lose a true love. I wish that every pair of true lovers could go together, returned to the Earth in an eternal embrace.

© Abra Cadaver 2007

The Soul of Hope: A word about the advertising

The more astute readers will have noticed that the sidebar of this blog features advertising placed by the maker of a popular search engine (along with links to previous articles, my profile, some other links I think are cool, etc.). While this may seem callous or inappropriate, the advertising provides three distinct and important functions:

1) The ad console provides hit-counter type information that lets me know if people have visited the page, which is, well, just kind of nice to know.

2) The ads may provide links to services the readers of this blog may indeed be interested in, and given that the product advertised is usually grief counselling, I am all for helping people expediate the process.

3) The advertising is cutting edge, strategically placed advertising targetted (supposedly) at my readers based on the content of the blog - The results of the 'sophisticated' word search targeting have been inappropriate, mind-boggling, sad, awkward, and always hilarious. Every time I log on to my own blog, I get a new example of advertising targeted at the bereaved, and that makes me laugh.

I suppose there may one day be a financial benefit from the ads, as well: To date, I have banked an impressive $1.67 Canadian towards the minimum payout threshold of $50.00. So, at the rate these ads have been pulling in the moolah, in about thirty-one years, the beers are on me. (I am a financial genius!)

Some examples of products and/or services I have seen offered/targeted at you on these pages:

Grief counselling: Well...Okay. If people need it and want it, they should get it. How they find it is irrelevant, and if they find it here, wonderful.
Flowers: This one makes me smile. I mean, if you are reading this, you are probably mourning someone, meaning that, ideally, someone should be sending you flowers. Kind of a stretch really, but perhaps for a memorial of some sort...
Memorial Website: Hee-hee-hee. You just know someone in a corporate boardroom somewhere kept seeing death related sites pop up in web search data and said, "There's an untapped market!"
Genealogy: I guess the thinking here is: "Odds are, they are mourning a family member, so maybe they will want to know more about their family histories..." Maybe, but genealogy apparel?! My family tree embroidered on a stylish turteneck, perhaps?
Sympathy Grief Basket: Okay, I am dying to know what would be included in a "sympathy gift basket". Kleenex? A black veil? Liquor and valium? All of the above, artfully arranged with fresh fruit? If anyone orders this item, please let me know...
Change Your Brainwaves: The computers at Big Advertising Inc. think we are nuts, and perhaps willing to trade our money for magic beans. Geez, we're grieving, not stupid.

* These are the ones I remember off the top of my head. I will add to them as I see more or as they come to mind.

At first, the ads didn't know what to do with themselves on this site, and oftimes would just advertise advertising or often nothing at all. But after a few weeks, they began to get more focused. I find it kind of fascinating, like watching some insipid yet ingenious predator stalk its prey, and I can't wait to see what they come up with next.

(Regarding the Firefox ad, I just really like Firefox, and I am always happy to give a Microsoft competitor a plug, if I can.)

One last note: Of the advertising I chose for the blog, I did select a targeted picture ad, but it just never shows up, even though the code chicanery has been properly propegated - I guess they have yet to compile alluring, full-colour promotions to get their hand in your pockets. Watch for them soon, no doubt...

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Misery Loves Company

I think I am going to start a dating service for the bereaved. Only those that have suffered a loss will be eligible, so all participants will have an understanding of each other, right off the bat. No more fumbling for what to talk about on first dates!

Also, their would be no more need to dread that uncomfortable moment your loss comes up in conversation, and your date gets all weird and awkward. Instead, it would be a bonding point: "You cried so hard you puked? Me, too! Let's get gelato!"

Daters could be matched based on whom they lost and how, with widows being matched with widowers, orphans with parents who have lost a child, etc. Those mourning the loss of a true love could date again without fear of condemnation from their new partners for being hung up on their dead ones.

MiseryLovesCompany.com - Until death do us part, and we're reunited with the ones we really love...Sign up now for a lifetime membership.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Life Does Not Go On (Republished from July 2006)

My best friend died at the age of twenty-seven. She rushed back into her burning house to save her pets and succumbed to smoke inhalation. She was beautiful, brilliant, and fearless, and she was loved by many – the funeral home could not accommodate the hundreds of mourners that attended her memorial. I was disconsolate.

In the days and months that followed, I was showered with sympathy, condolences, and commiseration. Friends and family brought casseroles, acquaintances and coworkers offered empathy, and everyone made a concerted effort to cheer me up. The most prevalent statement of encouragement was, “Life goes on.”

People have been saying “life goes on” as long as life has been going on. It is a universal mantra used to deal with loss and bereavement, clung to not for reassurance so much as pacification of one’s misery until enough time has passed to have its anesthetic effect. It is a necessary and natural reaction to loss, but as a statement of support, it is misleading and destructive. When you lose someone you love, life does not go on.

The loss of a loved one is a monumental event, one that can change the entire landscape of one’s life. A significant loss permanently changes the way you see your existence and how you experience it. Simply put, life as it was defined when your loved one was alive does not go on. Trying to live as if it does is both inappropriate and impossible, and ultimately self-destructive. By setting the unattainable goal of going on with life as before, you risk miring yourself in a cycle of denial and despair.

When I heard, “Life goes on”, it challenged me to move on. Though well intentioned, this was the worst advice I could be given. In order to carry on, I needed to allow myself the time to process this new reality and fully understand the ramifications of my loss. Until I did, I knew I would be living a former life that was now incomplete, rather than living life as it had become – different.

Months have passed since I lost my friend, and the transition to this new life has not been easy. I still miss her desperately, and I think of her every day. I still mourn my life with my friend, but I am not still trying to live it. I have begun a new life, one in which the memory of my best friend is not painful, but part of who I am. This has given me the strength to go on with living, even if life with my friend did not go on.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Antisocial Disease

When meeting new people, I have discovered it is often best to keep quiet about some details of my loss, such as the fact it happened at all. Given that my love for the departed (as well as the loss of her) is such a big part of who I am, it is almost impossible not to mention, at some point. But I think it best not to, and those of you who are dealing with the loss of someone close will likely empathize with the reason why.

When it comes out that my girlfriend died, people are instantly different with me. They get awkward and uncomfortable, and invariably look like they want to flee in the opposite direction, as if I have the plague.

Now I would understand this reaction were I all weepy and maudlin, but it should be apparent from my writings that I try to have a sense of humour about life & death, and am neither morose nor needy. I don't bring it up spontaneously or foist it on people, I just try to to explain that aspect of my life in whichever context is appropriate, when it comes up. Seems reasonable, but still, people behave as if the death of someone close is something contagious, something that might get on them if they get too close to it. (It stains, you know.)

So, I just need to come up with a cover story to explain my moodiness, my celibacy, the origin of my dog, the origin of one of my tattoos, and why I get a far away look in my eyes sometimes, for no apparent reason. I think it will involve a mysterious history as a cat burglar (I always wanted to be a cat burglar, but I am afraid of heights - No black-clad shimmying down ropes from skylights for me, alas). If my background is going to be a lie, may as well go big, eh?

And maybe I will also tell people I come from a happy land where gumdrops rain from the sky, everyone is happy all the time, and no one ever, ever dies. You and I know it's a lie, but that's what people seem to want to believe...

© Abra Cadaver 2007

Two Out of Three Hippies Agree

Atheists and agnostics are at a relative disadvantage when dealing with death. When devout Christians are confronted with a death in the family, they take solace in believing it was their God's will. (This sort of will never seemed too friendly to me, despite all of the good press God gets). Every religion has, as a requisite component, a mechanism for propping up its faithful during times of crisis.

Comparitively, atheists, agnostics, and other such heathen have little ready comfort, but are left to face the harsh realities of life with only reason and hope. If only there was a way the non-religious could have the comfort of religious experience without the hypocracy and lifelong commitment.

According to researchers at Johns Hopkins University, there is. Well, for two thirds of you, any way.

A Johns Hopkins study of psilocybin, the active ingredient in magic mushrooms, has revealed some interesting facts:

1. Everyone in the study got really stoned.
2. Two thirds of the participants had what they characterized as "a religious experience".
3. One third reported they had "a bad trip".

Two in three chance I see God, you say? I like those odds.

Likely so will many others. With this sort of "scientific" evidence, I sure there will a lot more 'religious experiences' going on amongst our youth, and magic mushroon grow-operations will be sprouting like, well...

© Abra Cadaver 2006