Monday, January 25, 2010

The Beloved Dead

It is something that always comes to my mind upon the death of an acquaintance. It is probably the worst thing for me to be thinking of, when so many people are mourning the death of a young person, with so much future, so little past. Everyone has the best things to say about the person, how nice they are, how lovely, how ambitious, and everyone’s relationship with the departed advances several tiers. What was once a casual friendship, becomes the closest of friendships, the dead person always was the mourner’s (one of) best friend(s). It always becomes a bit of a contest, outside the family, because to have been close to the deceased exalts the mourner to a level of reverence, of respect and condolences, and even compliments that would otherwise be a feeling of gloom shared rather than pointedly directed towards the one with this great loss. This person was so amazing, their death is a tragic loss for humanity, and I always, being the realist that I am, cannot help but remember the truth. Does dying make you pure and perfect? Somehow it seems so.


It rings most clearly in the words of my friend, upon reporting the recent death of a classmate to me.
In the most innocent, good-natured way, she closed the paragraph with the words, “I always remember her being really nice.” Funny thing is, I don’t. I remember her being a horrid bitch. But anyway, does the loss of a nice person outweigh the death of a mean one? No matter, I hope I am remembered for what I am, and as always, a death reminds me to speak these words and thoughts to the living while they still are.

1 comment:

  1. May you always be truth teller.

    ReplyDelete

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Born and raised under the Los Angeles sun and smog. At sixteen spent some time in LA County Juvenile Detention Center, although never really learned her lesson. Moved to Boston for the classic college experience. Spray painted graffiti in the Paris Metro during six month stay in the Marais. Survived an ultra fabulous and frightening internship at Vogue Magazine while living at a nunnery in Hell's Kitchen. Lived a year in Seoul, a city which can only be compared to a Disneyland theme park. Written four hundred sixty-four words of an undisclosed masterpiece novel. Currently pondering her next adventure and also the meaning of her memoirs from an artist's loft in dirty Brooklyn.