Death is one of my least favourite subjects to talk about. Ever. But I’m going to talk a little about this topic today.
First thing you should know about me is that I don’t handle deaths very well. Yes, I know it is inevitable. I am not an idiot. Deaths are imminent for everyone (unless you happen to know some secret magic that allows you to have immortality). I’m simply not one of those people who grief for a short while and then, move on. Depending on whose death’s in question, sometimes I take a while, or I never really did get over it at all.
I’ll tell you a little bit more about the deaths and me. I was 16 when my grandfather died. He was 67. During his final days, I was there to witness his sufferings. He could not even talk on his last day on earth. And I was unfortunately unable to see him breathe his last. While it was not my first encounter with human deaths, it was the first time I experienced a death of a dear one.
My paternal grandfather and grandmother brought me up when my parents went to work in another state when I was younger. Being the eldest grandchild in the family, I was spoiled silly by both of my grandparents. My grandfather, in particular, was very indulgent of me. In fact, I don’t ever remember being seriously reprimanded for anything I did throughout the years I’ve stayed with them. Whatever I wanted, my grandfather tried his best to give it to me. My family was not rich. But I had fun. And love.
So you can only imagine the pain and shock I got from my grandfather’s death. From the time I knew he was hospitalised until the day his body was cremated, I cried like there was no tomorrow. I was always a crybaby, but even so, I’ve never cried harder for anything or anyone else. I prayed fervently to god when my grandfather was hospitalised. Up until the day he died, I still prayed, for what ever little hope there might be to cure him of the illnesses that plagued him.
I can tell you when I became an atheist. Or rather, the day I stopped believing in a higher power’s existence. It was the day my grandfather died. I felt betrayed and hurt that despite all my prayers, grandfather did not once get any better. His conditions continued to deteriorate, his sufferings continued to escalate.
I do not need or want anyone to preach to me about god and religion. You have your beliefs, I have mine. Or rather, the lack of it. I am not an optimist, you see. I refuse to think that there might be a higher purpose of him dying and leaving us behind. I refuse. And so, I beg you not to tell me any of that bullshit that I am not willing to accept. I’d rather you think that I’m ignorant and stubborn.
My grandfather was a jolly old man, well-loved by everyone who knew him. I was very angry that he was taken away from me at such a time. I suppose the adolescence angst did not help much either.
Today while I was walking home, I saw a dead baby bird. It was small and completely bald. I only saw it for a couple of seconds, but it was enough for me to have difficulty controling my emotions and breathing. I do not know why deaths affect me so much, but they do. If I could, I wish I could unsee the dead bird. A dead bird, a dead frog, a dead cat, a dead dog or a dead rat, and I immediately transform into an emotional train wreck.
I cannot handle deaths. My grandparents are getting older by the day. To tell you the truth, I am scared to death. I lost my belief in god the first time around, I don’t know what else I would lose if it were to happen again.