It's been a rough week.
RIP Eric B.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Nostalgia
Sam is 52 years old. He works as a caretaker, lives in Moorpark and has two kids who have all flown the coop. He graduated from Royal High in 1974, actually making me one of his fellow alumni (Class of 1999).
We talked about how different it must have been back then. There was one drive-in theater in the city, a plexi-glass skating rink "over the hill" and Larwin Center (presently Mtn. Gate Plaza), was one of the most popular hang-outs.
Students smoked cigarettes on campus and nobody had ever heard of a seatbelt law. The latter gave them the freedom to pack all their friends into a 2-door Camaro every Friday night so they could have a tailgate party near Sir George's restaurant (which no longer exists).
"Back in the 70's, everybody knew everybody," he told me. "You ask anybody here what the Lemon Drive party was, and they'll all know what you're talking about."
Of course, I just assumed that there was a popular kid who lived on Lemon Drive who always threw the best parties. Apparently, I was wrong... and Sam found it a bit amusing to make me investigate further.
He pointed to the crowd of people behind him. They were in the restaurant patio, having dinner and sipping cocktails while they all laughed and reminisced about simpler times as high school students.
It was a reunion party and I was there on assignment. I interviewed a bunch of them, asking all the standard questions for a fun reunion story. What's it like to see old friends again? What do you do now for a living? About that guy who got voted "most likely to succeed"... how do you think he's doing now? Could you share a couple stories of your youth with me? What the heck is the Lemon Drive party?
People just seemed to giggle when I asked them the last question. Eventually, I figured I should just let it go and let them keep their secret. Whatever it was, it made them all smile, and perhaps it was better left that way... a constant that they shared with each other and didn't ever have to let go.
Still, of all the questions I asked them, there was only one where the answer surprised me. Why did you come to the reunion? You'd think this question would spawn some light-hearted, obvious answers, like "to see old friends," "to show off my job," "to find my h.s. sweetheart," and whatever else.
But the unanimous answer...was death.
Each person I interviewed said their main motivation for coming to the reunion was because they knew people from their class who had already died, and they didn't want to go a single day further without making new memories with their friends.
"Our parents taught us right from wrong, and hopefully some manners," Sam said. "But it was our friends who taught us everything else."
This really stuck with me. I didn't expect that answer, maybe because I'm just too young to really understand what it's like for them.
Sure, I've heard of a couple people in my class who have passed away in the last nine years, but it hasn't impacted my way of thinking about the past because those incidents were freak occurrences... accidents. They could've happened to anyone.
And as I thought about this further, I realized that the older I get, the more important nostalgia seems to become in my head. I tend to seek the feeling more... the kind you get when you look at old pictures or hear old songs. A lot of my friends who are the same age, are the same way. We find ourselves talking for hours about people and events that have already passed through our lives. And we get stuck in this... instead of going out and meeting new people and experiencing things we've never done before.
It makes me wonder if this is the natural progression of things. Everyone seems to have their own stories of childhood and adolescence. But when we get into our mid-20's and 30's, it becomes harder to remove ourselves from our routines and mix things up. By the time we're in our 50's, we may find ourselves desperately searching through 20 years worth of life for a snippet of worthwhile memories.
I'm only 26. These days... we don't really consider ourselves old until we're bed-ridden and being fed by our grown children. And that's great. But the problem come with the "only." It implies we have all the time in the world to experience new things.
But whether we're "only" 15, 26 or 52, time moves exponentially faster with age. People we love will inevitably die. And there will come a time when we're talking to someone a little wiser than us, who wishes they thought about this a little sooner.
So, here's my advice, to myself and to anybody else willing to take it: Treasure your memories, lock them in a box, then go make new ones.
It's okay to be nostalgic, but don't waste another minute trying to get back what's already passed. Instead, take what you've learned, good and bad, and use it to move forward. Love life... because you might not get another one.
We talked about how different it must have been back then. There was one drive-in theater in the city, a plexi-glass skating rink "over the hill" and Larwin Center (presently Mtn. Gate Plaza), was one of the most popular hang-outs.
Students smoked cigarettes on campus and nobody had ever heard of a seatbelt law. The latter gave them the freedom to pack all their friends into a 2-door Camaro every Friday night so they could have a tailgate party near Sir George's restaurant (which no longer exists).
"Back in the 70's, everybody knew everybody," he told me. "You ask anybody here what the Lemon Drive party was, and they'll all know what you're talking about."
Of course, I just assumed that there was a popular kid who lived on Lemon Drive who always threw the best parties. Apparently, I was wrong... and Sam found it a bit amusing to make me investigate further.
He pointed to the crowd of people behind him. They were in the restaurant patio, having dinner and sipping cocktails while they all laughed and reminisced about simpler times as high school students.
It was a reunion party and I was there on assignment. I interviewed a bunch of them, asking all the standard questions for a fun reunion story. What's it like to see old friends again? What do you do now for a living? About that guy who got voted "most likely to succeed"... how do you think he's doing now? Could you share a couple stories of your youth with me? What the heck is the Lemon Drive party?
People just seemed to giggle when I asked them the last question. Eventually, I figured I should just let it go and let them keep their secret. Whatever it was, it made them all smile, and perhaps it was better left that way... a constant that they shared with each other and didn't ever have to let go.
Still, of all the questions I asked them, there was only one where the answer surprised me. Why did you come to the reunion? You'd think this question would spawn some light-hearted, obvious answers, like "to see old friends," "to show off my job," "to find my h.s. sweetheart," and whatever else.
But the unanimous answer...was death.
Each person I interviewed said their main motivation for coming to the reunion was because they knew people from their class who had already died, and they didn't want to go a single day further without making new memories with their friends.
"Our parents taught us right from wrong, and hopefully some manners," Sam said. "But it was our friends who taught us everything else."
This really stuck with me. I didn't expect that answer, maybe because I'm just too young to really understand what it's like for them.
Sure, I've heard of a couple people in my class who have passed away in the last nine years, but it hasn't impacted my way of thinking about the past because those incidents were freak occurrences... accidents. They could've happened to anyone.
And as I thought about this further, I realized that the older I get, the more important nostalgia seems to become in my head. I tend to seek the feeling more... the kind you get when you look at old pictures or hear old songs. A lot of my friends who are the same age, are the same way. We find ourselves talking for hours about people and events that have already passed through our lives. And we get stuck in this... instead of going out and meeting new people and experiencing things we've never done before.
It makes me wonder if this is the natural progression of things. Everyone seems to have their own stories of childhood and adolescence. But when we get into our mid-20's and 30's, it becomes harder to remove ourselves from our routines and mix things up. By the time we're in our 50's, we may find ourselves desperately searching through 20 years worth of life for a snippet of worthwhile memories.
I'm only 26. These days... we don't really consider ourselves old until we're bed-ridden and being fed by our grown children. And that's great. But the problem come with the "only." It implies we have all the time in the world to experience new things.
But whether we're "only" 15, 26 or 52, time moves exponentially faster with age. People we love will inevitably die. And there will come a time when we're talking to someone a little wiser than us, who wishes they thought about this a little sooner.
So, here's my advice, to myself and to anybody else willing to take it: Treasure your memories, lock them in a box, then go make new ones.
It's okay to be nostalgic, but don't waste another minute trying to get back what's already passed. Instead, take what you've learned, good and bad, and use it to move forward. Love life... because you might not get another one.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs...
Death is a complex thing for the living. It's not like love or anger or happiness, where we as humans are expected by nature to react in a certain way or display characteristics that reinforce our state of being... a whimsical glance, lowered brows and a crinkled forehead, a smile or laugh. When I see someone walking down the street, I can usually tell if that person is angry, happy or in love. And observance of those characteristics is what helps the rest of us shape our response. Nature generally tells me that I wouldn't show pity to someone who is happy.
But death... death skews the playing field. It's the only natural inevitability about life, yet it's the most complicated thing next to living that we have to deal with. Some people will cry, some will laugh, some will get angry, or dwell, or find regret. Others will show nothing at all- just a blank face in a crowded room.
When death steps in and claims someone we love or care about, we're forcefully plunged into a bigger picture. Our individual lives seemingly become so small- insignificant in comparison to the rest of the universe, all because nature doesn't allow the world to stop. Unless death takes a celebrity or commits a massive, tragic act like the Holocaust or 9/11, nobody else cares... and its not their fault that they don't care, no matter how much our grief would like us to think so.
I lost a family member this morning.
She was 43-years-old, single, without children and had a successful career. I admit we weren't that close. As first-cousins, we'd see each other at family functions; she even lived at my house for some time. And though we always extended the highest level of respect, love and courtesy possible for two relatively distant family members, I really didn't know her that well.
I'm not writing this now to go over all those cliche attitudes and sayings about death - because we know them all. They would tell us to live each day like it was our last, to always say 'I love you' or to help us believe our loved one is in a better place now. But still, these are the same sayings that could just as easily plant seeds of regret and hurt in my head... that maybe I should have tried harder to be closer to her while she was alive, that I may have taken her for granted.
Why haven't I cried yet today?
It's not because we were never that close. It's not because I'm not sad. On the contrary, I'm heartbroken - she was a wonderful, selfless, caring person and she was family.
I think that what it all comes down to is the complexity of dealing with death. Maybe by writing this, it's my way of dealing. She's not in my immediate family, and so society says I don't need time off from work to grieve. As I write this... the clock ticks by closer and closer to my own work deadlines. Just a few hours ago, I told the news to my editor, hoping that he'd understand if I turned a story in a little late.
He replied with... "I'm sorry to hear that... Do you have anything new on the homicide story?" And then I answered him, as if it was just another day on the field.
It's a conflicting place to be in now. Maybe society is right... Maybe I don't need to grieve and I can just continue on with my day. We weren't that close anyway, right? Well deep down inside, it feels wrong. Because inside, I AM grief-stricken. And I DO really wish she's in a better place now.
I'm not looking for condolences or paid time off. I don't want anybody to feel sorry for me or stop their own lives because my family is suffering a tragedy today. Honestly, I really don't know what I want. I don't know what will make me feel better or worse, or perhaps even less guilty for being in front of my computer instead of with the rest of my relatives. I just don't know.
Because like I said before... death is a complex thing for the living.
REST IN PEACE, ATEH JESS. We'll see you again one day.
But death... death skews the playing field. It's the only natural inevitability about life, yet it's the most complicated thing next to living that we have to deal with. Some people will cry, some will laugh, some will get angry, or dwell, or find regret. Others will show nothing at all- just a blank face in a crowded room.
When death steps in and claims someone we love or care about, we're forcefully plunged into a bigger picture. Our individual lives seemingly become so small- insignificant in comparison to the rest of the universe, all because nature doesn't allow the world to stop. Unless death takes a celebrity or commits a massive, tragic act like the Holocaust or 9/11, nobody else cares... and its not their fault that they don't care, no matter how much our grief would like us to think so.
I lost a family member this morning.
She was 43-years-old, single, without children and had a successful career. I admit we weren't that close. As first-cousins, we'd see each other at family functions; she even lived at my house for some time. And though we always extended the highest level of respect, love and courtesy possible for two relatively distant family members, I really didn't know her that well.
I'm not writing this now to go over all those cliche attitudes and sayings about death - because we know them all. They would tell us to live each day like it was our last, to always say 'I love you' or to help us believe our loved one is in a better place now. But still, these are the same sayings that could just as easily plant seeds of regret and hurt in my head... that maybe I should have tried harder to be closer to her while she was alive, that I may have taken her for granted.
Why haven't I cried yet today?
It's not because we were never that close. It's not because I'm not sad. On the contrary, I'm heartbroken - she was a wonderful, selfless, caring person and she was family.
I think that what it all comes down to is the complexity of dealing with death. Maybe by writing this, it's my way of dealing. She's not in my immediate family, and so society says I don't need time off from work to grieve. As I write this... the clock ticks by closer and closer to my own work deadlines. Just a few hours ago, I told the news to my editor, hoping that he'd understand if I turned a story in a little late.
He replied with... "I'm sorry to hear that... Do you have anything new on the homicide story?" And then I answered him, as if it was just another day on the field.
It's a conflicting place to be in now. Maybe society is right... Maybe I don't need to grieve and I can just continue on with my day. We weren't that close anyway, right? Well deep down inside, it feels wrong. Because inside, I AM grief-stricken. And I DO really wish she's in a better place now.
I'm not looking for condolences or paid time off. I don't want anybody to feel sorry for me or stop their own lives because my family is suffering a tragedy today. Honestly, I really don't know what I want. I don't know what will make me feel better or worse, or perhaps even less guilty for being in front of my computer instead of with the rest of my relatives. I just don't know.
Because like I said before... death is a complex thing for the living.
REST IN PEACE, ATEH JESS. We'll see you again one day.
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