My Dead Girlfriend

A Song for Cat (and the rest of us, too.)

2010-08-18T16:38:00.000-07:00

A Song for Cat (and the rest of us, too.)

2010-08-18T16:36:00.000-07:00

The post that started it all: Life Does Not Go On

2010-08-18T16:33:00.000-07:00

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

For Cat...

2010-08-17T23:51:00.000-07:00

Like it was yesterday...

2010-08-17T23:32:00.000-07:00

Oh my gawd, I miss her so much right now I can barely breathe.

For no obvious or external reason, I am just overwhelmed with grief, and loneliness, and sorrow - Sorrow so thick it is clogging my throat and filling my eyes, blinding me. I can't see, and I can't call out, as wave after wave of crushing sadness washes over me.

I miss her so much, I miss her so much, I miss her so much...

Funeral Sex

2010-03-16T17:46:00.000-07:00

There is something irresistible about grief, I have decided. In the days and weeks following my girl's passing, I had scads of available women throwing themselves at me. I didn't see it that way at the time, for the most part, brushing the attention off as people just being nice. In hindsight, however, I can now see that many of these doting women definitely wanted to give me more than a hug.

Perhaps it is the naked vulnerability, perhaps it is the life-affirming nature of lovin', I'm not sure, but I do know this seems to be a universal phenomena. So, if you find yourself in this position, don't question the propriety or morality and go as your heart leads you.

(What, me? Okay, well, so awash in grief was I that I did not take advantage of any of the opportunities offered to find solace in the arms of another. Do I regret not doing so? It depends on the day you ask me...)

* The video is from the good folks at ucbcomedy.com.

Putting the Fun Back in Funeral

2010-03-16T17:35:00.000-07:00

Despite the spelling, there is no actual fun in a funeral.

When I go, I'd prefer people hold a luau where everyone gets lei'd, drinks tropical cocktails, eats suckling pig, and dances the hula in coconut bras and grass skirts...

I used to also say that, if I am to be there in deceased form, they should trot me out on a big silver tray with an apple in my mouth. I have since decided that might be going a little too far.

Suicide Funeral

2010-03-15T22:22:00.000-07:00

Wow, I had been told a suicide funeral is a very strange experience, but that sure was an understatement. Talk about an elephant in the room...

The family did not mention it in any way. Seeing my girlfriend's family delivering a eulogy for one of their children seemed all too familiar. Almost tedious, in a way. (I feel guilty for having this impression, but it is just how it struck me at the time).

She was composed and well-spoken, he was stiff upper lip on the edge of dissolving. Neither took on the topic. A preacher finally broached the subject by first admonishing the congregation to not indulge in speculation over the deceased's last days but instead leave that, "between him and the Lord".

This was followed by the parable of the footsteps in the sand, here re-purposed and edited to have the Lord carrying the deceased home to Heaven. This, I'm gonna tell ya, was just plain weird.

After the service, I spoke with my once almost mother-in-law. She was bubbling over with the platitudes she had no doubt been reciting to herself like a mantra to keep moving through it. At the end of a long sentence she mumbled rhetorically, philosophically, "What can you do?"

"Go to Paris", I said.

I shook the father's hand, squeezing hard, looked him in the eye, and said only his first name - There was nothing else to say.

"Here we are again", he said, and we stood silently for a while. There was nothing else to say.

Lightning Striking Twice

2010-03-15T08:55:00.000-07:00

I received a phone call from a family member the other day. Familiar with my situation and history, they were able to recognize a last name used by a neighbourhood gossip as being the same as my girlfriend's. The news was tragic; the young man had taken his own life, apparently.

Long story short, it has turned out to be my girlfriend's brother. This has been confirmed by the obituary, the funeral is today. I have left a message with my girlfriend's parents, and they have left a message with me when I missed their return call, but I have yet to speak with them. Indeed, the manner of death remains unconfirmed, and I am careful not to show blind faith in the accuracy of gossip. [Ed. note: Now confirmed.]

Regardless, that he has died is sickeningly factual. Of course, this is dredging up a great deal of stuff for me, but for now I am most concerned with the parents. No parent should ever outlive a child, let alone both of them. I have no kids of my own, and could never understand what they are going through.

What can you say to someone that has gone through this? There is nothing. There is no advice, no platitude.

Six years after my own loss, I now know you do not get over something like this. It never gets any better, you just learn how to live with it. It informs and affects everything you are, and it takes a conscious effort to ensure that effect is not negative, self-destructive, or maudlin.

But this is nothing I need say to the parents - They have been through this before, and they know this already.

The most clever thing I will ever come up with...

2010-01-07T23:04:00.000-08:00

Everyone says, "You could die any day, so live each like it is your last". The conditional modifier, 'could', allows for the possibility, however slim, you might not die; unfortunately, this is not the case. The trick is to understand you will die any day, and make your choices accordingly.

Hope your journeys are taking you places you need to be. Still missing Cat each and every day.

Dear Abra - Advice on Death & Dying

2009-02-01T11:34:00.000-08:00

Okay, while it is not at all something I intended, some folks have started to see this blog as a potential source of advice about death, dying, and all the weird little situations that go along with it. I have never professed to be any sort of expert in the field, nor have my own approaches to the topic been entirely healthy or successful (as many previous posts prove).

That said, it can be awfully difficult to ask some of these questions without getting one or a combination of the following reactions:

1) Some trite cliche that really offers no new insight.
2) Some trite religious words that really offers no new insight.
3) Awkwardness, staring at shoes, changing topic.
3) Some sort of concerned response that indicates the listener thinks you might be a little crazy for even asking such a question, and is wondering whether or not they should intervene.

So, to offer at least a basic sounding board where one can receive straightforward, unflinching opinions, I am inviting your questions. As long as everyone realizes that I am just some guy with opinions and not any sort of qualified expert, and that these opinions should be taken with a grain of salt, we'll be fine.

If, however, you are looking for someone to tell you, in absolutes, what is "right", then please look elsewhere - There are plenty of other people on the 'net only too happy to take on that responsibility. (There are even reputable, professional ones. Do your homework and get the help you need, if you need it).

A Good Question Answered

2009-01-20T07:40:00.000-08:00

So, I got this comment on one of my posts that contained the following:

I have yet to experience loss of an immediate family member but i dread to see the day i cry my heart out when someone i love dies. is there a good way to prepare one mentally for death? i feel one way is not allow yourself to be attached to people & accept they are only temporary in your life but then doing this means not living our life to the fullest as we're holding ourselves back, isn't it? Any ideas on how to prepare for death? Anonymous

At first, I brushed off the question as obvious and basic, but I realized that, despite my initial reaction to the question, I was guilty of some of its logically fallacies. I have been holding back since my loss and not making connections, not as a direct preventative cure for grief, but for some reason. This overall question was definitely worth a second look. Here is how I responded:

Anonymous - The only way to be somewhat prepared for death is to paradoxically have experienced death, I suspect. It is a unique and transformative experience that leaves one with an understanding of their world that could not be attained academically, without the experience. The issue for you, it would seem, is your relationship with/understanding of death. It is inevitable for us all, so 'dreading it' is an utter waste. The winter sure is cold, but you don't spend the summer dwelling on it, do you? Limiting attachments will ease the immediate sting of loss, but with the concurrent result of you missing out on the reason we are alive in the first place - Kind of a steep price to pay. (I know whereof I speak, and must claim the right of 'Do as I say, not as I do' on this issue). So, to answer your question: To prepare yourself for death, make connections freely, love fiercely, and 'cry your eyes out when someone you love dies' - There are far worse fates than grief, my friend...

Abra Cadaver

So, kind of an obvious and basic answer, but something I really needed to reaffirm for myself. Now, to put this thinking into practice...

Funeral Directors = Car Salesmen

2009-01-11T18:42:00.000-08:00

I would not have been surprised if the funeral director had tried to sell me rust-proofing and under-coating for the coffin. The implication that one doesn't truly love the departed unless they get the platinum package hangs in the air like cheap cologne.

I dined on little, triangle sandwiches for three days after my mother's funeral. After I scatter the ashes, what do I do with a $700 urn? Put flowers in it? Sell it on eBay, one 'slightly used' urn? At least they are planting a tree in her memory - That, as least, has some practical benefit.

My Dead Mother

2009-01-11T11:36:00.000-08:00

My mother died of metastatic cancer at the end of 2008. It was quick and relatively painless, and though sudden, not entirely a shock - She had not been well, overall, for some time. I have been stoic and almost business-like in the wake, which may appear callous from the outside. They don't know that the veil has already been ripped away.

When I lost Cat, my 'worst thing possible' happened. Having lived through that and all of the life-altering changes associated, I don't think I can ever be as shocked or saddened or blind-sided by death again. Death comes to us all, and it sometimes is more of a surprise that it hasn't yet, than when it finally does.

My mother and Cat never met face-to-face (long story, long distances, etc.), but they spoke on the phone a great deal, and when packing some of my Mom's belongings, I discovered a stash of pictures and clippings from Cat's death, along with a letter she sent to all of her friends about Cat. Cat and my mother even continued to speak during a period when Cat and I had split, I would have been chagrined to learn at the time. My mother attended Cat's funeral, though I do not remember seeing her - Cat's funeral was and remains a fuzzy, surreal blur in my memory.

For my mother's funeral, I was tasked (largely by default) with all of the funeral preparations, notifications, etc., a fate I had been spared with Cat - Her parents handled everything. This time, it was down to me, and I was actually grateful for the distraction. It is much easier to keep busy after a loss; the alternative leaves far too much time to dwell on your grief.

The funeral planning experience was a bizarre one, to say the least, and will be explored in greater depth in future posts. For now, I just want to share the eulogy I gave:

"It is great to see such an intimate group show up to give my mother this send-off. Thanks for coming. After the service, I hope you’ll all stay and join us upstairs for a reception - There will be coffee, snacks, and those little sandwiches only found at affairs such as these.

During the service, I encourage you all to do whatever feels good. Loosen the tie, pop out for a smoke, let the kids run amok, or break into song as the mood strikes - My mother was not a conventional woman, so a conventional, stuffy service will just not do.

In a moment, I’m going to ask 'X' to come up here. We have asked her to shepherd us through my mother’s memorial, and she has graciously agreed. We felt there was no one better equipped to act as our Master of Ceremonies, to minister to our spiritual needs, and comfort us as a deeply trusted family member. That she has agreed to come in on her day off and share her gift with whilst also working through a sister’s grief is deeply appreciated.

First, I’d like to say a few words: When memorializing a lost loved one, it is all too tempting to distill that person’s life down to the single most dramatic event in their life - A moment of glory, their greatest triumph, their most tragic loss. In doing so, however, one is robbed of complete and accurate perspective, and is left only within an incomplete, caricatured understanding of their loved one’s life. Though my mother’s life was rather dramatically punctuated by an automobile accident in 1975, it was not defined by it - There was so much more.

There were thirty years of life before the accident, when a beautiful, brilliant young girl grew up in a creative, loving family before leaving the nest to attend University, earn Degrees in History and English, make lifelong friendships, fall in love, and have two pretty great kids. I hope to learn a lot more about these years throughout today’s memorial and reception.

There were over thirty years after the event, when a fiercely independent woman of faith soldiered through unimaginable challenges to continue to pursue her dreams, such as studying with Coretta Scott King in Atlanta, attending Seminary College in Saskatoon, or traveling to her ancestral homeland of Scotland. I hope we’ll all come away with a deeper appreciation and respect for a kind of strength that could only be forged in a blast furnace of hardship.

There were almost 64 years of a life that was a rich, unique tapestry comprised of brilliant coloured threads that form an image of a life well-lived. Each one of you here today are a thread in that tapestry, and helped to make it the vibrant expression of love, strength, and hope that it was. It is this work of art that I will remember.

If I allow myself a moment of guilt for opportunities missed to help or support her, I deny her the respect that is due an independent woman with the strength to strive for her desires, regardless of the barriers in her way. She would’ve liked more help from me, but her life sure didn’t grind to a halt without it.

If I allow myself a moment of pity for her life circumstances, I deny myself a proper understanding and appreciation of her strength in the face of them. She was a survivor of her circumstances, not a victim of them.

If I deify her in passing and revise my memory to omit all of her faults, I rob her of her humanity, and myself of the complexity and depth of the person she was. She was far from perfect and, now that she’s gone, it is some of her ‘imperfections’ I miss the most.

If I allow myself to continue schisms and divides that stemmed from the most emotionally confusing event ever to occur in any of our lives, I rob myself of family connections and friendships that I now know are much more important than any issues that may have come between them. When there is no clear path, how can I fault anyone their imperfect struggle to find an imperfect way forward? (As some of you may or may not know, I have been far from perfect in my life).

And, if I allow myself a moment of regret for not getting in touch with her more often, it is my own loss I lament, and the opportunity missed to share her company - While I may have beaten myself up about it, she never dwelled on it, too much, and was only happy to see me when she did.

My mother was many things. My mother was brilliant and observant, with a unique and incisive understanding of human nature. My mother was impulsive and impractical, and always chose irrational hope over practical reality. My mother was gregarious and made friends effortlessly. My mother could be a colossal pain-in-the-ass, and to this today there are many people that will attest her greatest crime on this Earth was teaching her youngest son the saying, “The squeaky wheel gets the grease”.

She had a quick wit, strong opinions, and, at times, a sharp tongue - she would readily rise to a fight, but was equally quick to forgive. She was not ignorant to the failings of people, but was always the first to overlook those failings and allow people the grace to be what they needed to be. She was, at times, impossible, cantankerous, and downright pissed off. But through it all, she maintained a childlike wonder and sense of play that should provide us all a glimpse of one of the secrets to a happy life.

She was my mother, and I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for joining me in remembering her today."

The Soul of Hope - Blog Ads, part deux

2009-01-11T05:43:00.000-08:00

Well, a few years into this blog, and the ads are getting utterly shameless:

Free Will Kit - Okay, well this makes sense, I guess. In fact, dear reader, do get a will. Just don't get it from an ad on the Internet, 'kay?

Personal Injury Lawyers - This is just crass. 'Did your loved one die in an accident? You might have $ coming to you!' Funerals for fun and profit...

Are You Hairless On Top? - No, I'm not joking. Perhaps the advertisers think that those in mourning need a thicker, fuller head of hair. Remember that these ads are supposedly "targeted" at the interest group reading this blog - I'm thinking someone dropped the ball on this one. "I'm not just the owner of Misery Club for Men, I'm a member!"

100s Pretty Ladies - Okay Google, WTF? I mean, I'll freely admit to being single and lonely in the wake of my loss, but I am not in the least bit impressed or enticed by a 'dating' ad found on a blog ABOUT MOURNING! Geez, don't they employ any sort of filters?

I am likely going to ditch the ads, as they are just getting offensive. Funny, yes, but still kinda gross. I haven't checked what, if anything, the ads have earned, but I am not really interested in minorly profiting from my pain. (Majorly profiting, absolutely - I could do some kick-ass grieving on a beach). I am just not into wringing a few bucks out of this blog by helping Google hawk hair-loss remedies...

Cat's Eulogy

2009-01-11T05:14:00.000-08:00

I was not formally asked to speak at Cat's funeral, so when the opportunity came, I had no words prepared. When the photo-montage set to, "Wind Beneath My Wings" failed to play as planned, I was urged to get up and say a few words to fill in while funeral staff wrestled with the DVD player.

I got up, mumbled something about Cat's dog, Etta-Mae, and then managed only this:

She was Cat.
She was Cat,
and she was good.
She was my friend.
I miss my friend...

Cat's Last Gift

2009-01-11T04:43:00.000-08:00

As I write this, a furry German Shepherd named Etta-Mae is silently watching me from where she lays upon a wing-back chair. If not for the occasional yawn or lick of the lips, she is so silent one could forget she is even there. She is a sweet, gentle, and overly-sensitive creature, and she is Cat's last gift to me.

Cat did not leave me truly alone. When she passed, she left a shy, one-year-old GS puppy behind. If possible, the puppy was even more fucked up by the events of that tragic night than I. Together, she and I have tried to move on and survive and, together, we have (thus far).

In fact, she has shown more resilience than I, and I am heartened to see the spark of canine silliness and playfulness has not been extinguished by her loss. She won't go anywhere near a campfire, mind you, and still hides under the bed when I burn the toast, but she cries less then I, and spends more time consoling me than I do her.

In the days following Cat's death, I wrestled with what best to do with Etta. The sentimental choice was to keep her, of course, but I was an apartment-dwelling, beer-swilling, miscreant with a whopper of a Peter Pan complex. What good was I to such a helpless and trusting creature? I was not sure what to do, I desperately wanted to do the right thing, and I just wished Cat could tell me what to do.

When I phoned to register Etta's information under my own name, Cat had beaten me to it: I was already listed as the secondary caregiver for Etta-Mae.

Burn Your Candles

2009-01-11T03:48:00.000-08:00

Mere months into our relationship, Cat was already thinking marriage. She was a magical, impulsive creature and, for some reason unbeknownst to me, totally willing to overlook my glaring faults and actually see me as marriage material.

I, however, was reluctant to rush into such territory, preferring to take my time. Heck, if it was for life, what was the rush? Little did I know. Did Cat know, on some level? I wonder - The girl lived her life like a house on fire (no pun intended), so maybe, on some elemental level, she knew her time was short... The star that burns twice as bright, and all that.

You know those fancy candles that people get to decorate their homes, then never light, waiting for some occasion special enough to warrant a fancy candle? The candles go unburned, their potential for warmth and heat never realized, and the worthiness of an occasion for candle burning insipidly rises in proportion to the length of time the candles have been preserved.

Of course, hindsight is 20/20 (and often unpleasant, without the gauzy, soft focus of denial), but I now know I wasted a chance to share my heat and warmth with Cat, choosing instead to keep my candles wrapped in plastic. And then she was gone...

Cat, for what it's worth, I'm ready now.

Burn your candles, friends, burn your candles...

Merry Christmas?

2008-12-25T07:13:00.001-08:00

Well, I feel wretched.

It is Christmas morning, and I still miss her like it was yesterday. It has been almost five years since her exit, and the pain is still acute... I am so alone without her, even in a crowd.

This year I am a Christmas orphan. Friends and family being out of town, etc., has left me with too much time on my hands to dwell on the past, and the walk down memory lane has not been entirely pleasant.

And so goes Christmas 2008. Cat loved Christmas, and I will try to think of some way to honour that, I guess. Or I'll get drunk and watch 'It's a Wonderful Life'.

Merry Christmas Cat. I love you...

PS: Apologies to those that have left comments and received no reply. I have been trying to stay away from this blog for a while in hopes it would get things off my mind, but sadly, this is not how it works.

Death Envy

2007-08-24T18:07:00.000-07:00

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

2007-08-11T10:55:00.000-07:00

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

2007-02-14T07:10:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-10T19:44:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-08T12:41:00.000-08:00

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)

2007-01-08T12:32:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-07T21:04:00.000-08:00

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

2006-07-11T22:37:00.000-07:00

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

Passing Time, Passing Away

2006-07-08T14:59:00.000-07:00

You are going to die. I'm sorry to be the one to break the news, but your death is inevitable. Unless you are the Queen of England, Dick Clark, or otherwise immortal, this earth-bound existence is guaranteed to come to a very abrupt end.

Take heart: It is exactly this stark reality that gives life its meaning. If our days were limitless, there wouldn't be much pressure to do much with them - You'd always have another. Instead, each of us has only a limited amount of days to waste, and when they are up, that's it.

The key, then, is to make the very most of the limited amount of time each of us has left in this world. Hardly revolutionary advice. Everyone academically understands the importance of maximizing one's time on Earth, but we still spend too much time at the office. We so easily take for granted the time we have, frittering it away working overtime, sitting in traffic, and shopping for iPods. Would we be so wasteful of our days if we knew exactly how few remained?

Enter The Death Clock (TM), billed as, "The Internet's friendly reminder that life is slipping away." Simply enter information such as age, sex, weight, and some lifestyle details (smoker/non-smoker, etc.), and The Death Clock will calculate the average life expectancy for someone with your statistics and habits and display 'your personal date of death', as well as a clock showing your time left to live (in seconds), ticking away.

Just for fun, The Death Clock(TM) allows you to choose between a normal, optimistic, pessimistic, or sadistic estimate of your expiration date (according my 'sadistic' estimate, I am already dead). Also included are some helpful sponsored links to information on improving your lifestyle and, hence, your life expectancy.

While The Death Clock(TM) may seem a little macabre to some, there really is some edifying purpose to this website. This concrete reminder of the brevity of life can be taken as depressing and morbid, or it can be articulated as an affirmation of life and motivation to get off the couch. A keen awareness of your death's inevitability always leads to a deeper respect for the time that remains.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Photo © The Death Clock 2005

Thirty-three minutes or free?

2006-07-05T23:53:00.000-07:00

Chinese Vans Deliver Death

"Mobile execution chambers are now on the road in China. As a replacement for the firing squad, this is nomadic power, bringing the state – and lethal injections – to your doorstep...

...Sixty-eight different crimes – more than half non-violent offenses such as tax evasion and drug smuggling – are punishable by death in China. That means the death vans are likely to keep rolling...

..."Makers of death vans," USA Today reports, "say they save money for poor localities that would otherwise have to pay to construct execution facilities in prisons or court buildings."" - © BLGBLOG 2006

Ah, the Chinese dragon, a model of industrial might, efficiency, and devaluation of human life.

(See Link: BLDGBLOG: Chinese Death Vans)

© Abra Cadaver 2006
Photo © USA Today 2006

Death: The Final Abstraction

2006-07-05T20:06:00.000-07:00

Have you ever noticed how many ways we humans have created to avoid speaking frankly about death, perhaps life's most frank reality?

Throughout history, many Western cultures superstitiously believed that merely uttering the word 'death' was a dangerous thing to do. In the middle ages, direct mention of death and dying was strictly avoided (much like basic hygiene), as it could draw the attention of Death itself (Himself? Herself?), resulting in all manner of evil. Over the years, the English language evolved hundreds of euphemisms to replace the perilous terms.

Dying became 'fading away', 'leaving us', or even 'kicking off'. Dead became 'deceased', which became 'passed away', which became 'pushing up daisies'. And when we share the news that someone has died, we say they 'passed on', 'checked ou't, 'bought the farm', or 'shuffled off this motal coil' (thanks to one Willy Shakespeare).

While the origins of this speak-no-evil taboo are certainly rooted in archaeic belief, it is difficult to believe historical superstition is a sufficiently complete explanation of humankind's dogged determination to put up its collective hand and say, "Don't go there". No matter how advanced or enlightened civilization has become, folks still squirm when you drop the 'D-bomb'. It seems an almost instinctive reaction to wrap the whole concept of death in pink cotton candy, douse it in sugar, and dance all around it.

The problem with instinctive reactions is that they are not always healthy ones - Witness buffalo herded off a cliff by native hunters, instinctively fleeing their fears. Had they just turned around and stampeded toward their fears, they would have kicked a great deal of aboriginal ass.

While this author believes strongly in using the most direct terms in facing death head on, I am not one to blow against the wind. As a service to my readers, I now present a list of euphemisms for death (culled from the Internet), to fill all of your abstraction needs:

Dead (as in, 'not alive') - adjective - asleep, belly up, bloodless, blooey, breathless, buried, cadaverous, checked out, cold, cut off, deceased, defunct, departed, done for, erased, expired, extinct, gone, inanimate, inert, late, lifeless, liquidated, mortified, no more, not existing, offed, passed away, perished, reposing, rubbed out, snuffed out, spiritless, stiff, unanimated, washed up, wasted.

Dying (as in, 'failing') - adjective - cashing in, checking out, decaying, declining, disintegrating, done for, doomed, ebbing, expiring, fading, fated, final, going, in extremis, moribund, mortal, passing, perishing, sinking, vanishing, withering.

Death (as in, 'the end) - noun - afterlife, annihilation, bereavement, casualty, cessation, curtains, darkness, decease, demise, departure, destruction, dissolution, downfall, dying, end, ending, eradication, eternal rest, euthanasia, exit, expiration, extermination, extinction, fatality, finis*, finish, future home, grave, grim reaper*, heaven, loss, mortality, necrosis, obliteration, oblivion, paradise, parting, passing, passing over, quietus, release, repose, ruin, ruination, silence, sleep, termination.

(Source: http://www.Thesaurus.com, 2006)

And, just to be complete, I now present a list of some of the more tastless euphemisms, because why say someone is 'dead' when you can proudly exclaim, "They're taking a dirt nap!":

Making a call from the horizontal phone booth.
Checked into the Motel Deep 6.
Taking a spin in a brass-handled sedan.
Booked on a cruise on the dirt submarine.
Playing in the subterranean sand box.
Serving a major in the pine penalty box.
Trolling for topsoil trout.
Doing the worm wave at Stiff Stadium.
On the Soil Subway.
Moved into upper management.
Marinating in soil and worms.
On the wrong side of the dirt.

There are just so many to choose from! If I have missed any you like, please add a comment with your favourite death euphemism (or least favourite, for that matter), but act soon - Life is short and we could all soon be six feet under.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Songs for the Dead

2006-07-03T01:22:00.000-07:00

For some odd reason, it can feel incredibly good to indulge feeling incredibly bad. It may sound counter-intuitive, but nothing gets you through grief quite like grieving, and nothing can trigger grief quite like your favorite, sad song.

What constitutes a sad song is a highly subjective thing. One person's tearjerker may have no meaning for another, and songs written on a sad subject matter may not necessarily trigger the desired response - I refer you to Meryn Cadell's The Cat Carol (Had the cat eaten the mouse, would Santa not have taken it to Heaven?), or that damned Christmas Shoes song. (Your momma's dying, kid, she doesn't need shoes...How about some nice Isotoner slippers?)

Conversely, as memories tend to attach themselves to the music that accompanied them, I am sure there are many people that become deeply depressed upon hearing Walking on Sunshine, The Sesame Street Theme, even the warbling whistle from the Irish Spring soap commercials.

Following a theme employed in previous articles, I now present a list of songs (in no particular order), at least some of which are guaranteed to mist up even the saltiest sailor in the room:

Gloomy Sunday - Many artists
My Immortal - Evanescense
Hurt - Johnny Cash
Good Riddance - Green Day
May You Always - The McGuire Sisters
Teardrop - Massive Attack
Don't Know Why - Norah Jones
Time to Say Goodbye - Andrea Bochelli & Sarah Brightman
Don't Speak - No Doubt
Can't Cry Hard Enough - Victoria Williams

* There is no way a list like this can ever be complete, so it will remain an open project, to be amended with reader contributions (via comments) and my own blinky memory.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Parable of Immortality

2006-07-02T01:06:00.000-07:00

The following is adapted from A Parable of Immortality by Henry Van Dyke, who originally used a tall ship with sails unfurled as his analogy:

As I stand on a mountaintop, a great bird approaches.
She is small in my sight, but grows larger on approach
Until I am blessed with the full sight
Of her graceful wings, wild beauty, and free spirit.

All too quickly she grows small again
On the horizon and disappears from view
And I call out,
"She has gone."

But there are other mountaintops beyond me
And at the precise moment
When I note the great bird's departure from my view,
I know there are new eyes taking up the sight of her
And fresh voices calling out,
"Here she comes."

* The writers of television's Crossing Jordan have also adapted the work of Mr. Van Dyke, in an episode dealing with bereavement. They, too, favoured a bird analogy.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

What Not to Say

2006-07-01T20:22:00.000-07:00

The urge to comfort the recently bereaved with a few choice words is universal. We instinctively react to the pain and seek to soothe it using the only tool we know. Unfortunately, words often fail us when we need them most, and we end up falling back on tired, old cliches to convey our sympathy.

Compiled here, in no particular order, are some things to avoid saying to a person in mourning:

"Life goes on." - No, it does not - The life I shared with her is over.
"She is in a better place." - Obviously you did not think much of the life she and I shared. I think she was fine right where she was.
"It is all part of God's plan." - If that's the case, then God is an asshole. Am I supposed to be comforted knowing God plotted my girlfriend's death? Furthermore, in the case of murder, does this make killers 'God's little helpers'?
"It is all for the best." - For whom? My girlfriend? Me? The greater good of the nation? Tell me exactly how this is best.
"She looked so good/peaceful at the funeral." - Wow, I thought she looked dead. If you thought she looked good dead, you should have seen her alive!
"If there is anything I can do..." - Just once I wish I had said, "Can you build a deck? She always wanted me to have a deck..."
"It will all be okay." - There is only one way this could be okay: Is she coming back to life? Cause, if so, I should really get her a card or something...
"Call me." - I barely have the strength to get through the next minute, let alone seek out support. If you really want to help, reach out to me - I'll be at home hiding under my bed.
"Try to forget about her." - Tell you what, pal: I'll cut off your left arm, then I will ask you to forget about it. Same difference.

These are real-life examples drawn from my own experience. I have had each one of these misguided missives aimed my way, and each well-intentioned word acted to underscore my loss with their hollowness, the emptiness of the words making concrete my loss.

When you don't know what to say, sometimes it is best not to say anything at all.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

The Upside of Having a Dead Girlfriend

2006-07-01T19:37:00.000-07:00

I am in love with a dead girl. The girl I love died and went wherever dead people go, but I am still here, in love with her.

There are a myriad of sufferings, both great and petty, that go along with this state of being. There are times when all I can do is ball up my fists and shout at the sky. There are times when I don't understand how the world can keep turning and feel that the stars should go out, the trees lay down, and the seas stand still in reverent memoriam. And there are times when the loneliness is more than I can bear.

I could write volumes on the downside of being in love with a dead girl. The cons of loss are obvious and universal. Instead, I am going to try identifying some benefits. Surely, in this life of balance, nothing can be all bad, can it?

1. Gift giving is much easier - A few flowers for the memorial now and again, and I am good to go! Always the right size, colour, etc...

2. I don't have to worry about remembering dates, such as birthdays, anniversaries, etc. - While there is now one more anniversary to remember (that of her passing), I am sure she no longer cares if I get the dates right.

3. Jealousy is no longer an issue, part 1 - Unlike when she was alive, I am sure my dead girlfriend would heartily encourage me to chase other women.

4. Jealousy is no longer an issue, part 2 - While many people have unresolved feelings about an ex, there is no way I can act on mine.

5. Jealousy is no longer an issue, part 3 - I don't worry about guys hitting on her anymore, and if there is afterworld nooky, I kinda hope she's getting some 'til I see her again (Go girl!)...

6. I am a very lucky boy - Many people live a lifetime never knowing what it is to be truly, deeply loved for all that you are, good and bad, without qualification. I got a couple of years of it, and it was good.

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Notes to the Dead

2006-07-01T19:29:00.001-07:00

Feline,

Loving you madly,
missing you desperately,
and dreaming of the time
I will see you again.

Ever yours...

© Abra Cadaver 2006

Life Does Not Go On

2006-07-01T18:41:00.000-07:00

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