So my father after 18 years is once again able to visit his homeland.
I can see my grandpa and his 83 years ecstatic over the fact he’s able to once again see his son.
Last week, was quite a disastrous week. Our dog died after ten years among our family, and I find out I had a spontanous pneumothorax.
You can already see where I’m going with this post, right?
While at the hospital, waiting patiently and feeling very well, you would see every now and then people in pain. Desperate husbands and fiancees, worried about their lovers. Crying every last teardrop out of them for whom they wished just to be fine, and back into their lives.
What do we most fear about death?
Losing memories? Feelings that are gone?
An important being to their own persona, slipping through their fingers.
This has been my first connection to death itself. I have never been to a funeral, or anything of the sort. Then suddenly, these happen and I get to see more car accidents than I have witnessed in my whole life in less than two days.
What is it about death that we fear so much?
Not being remembered?
Forgotten and lost in a grave.
Burned then swept away like dust in the wind.
Why do we fear life so much, if we ultimately fear death?
Just where are you fuckers. I need you.