“Every man has two deaths, when he is buried in the ground and the last time someone says his name. In some ways men can be immortal.” ― Ernest Hemingway
Growing up, and earlier than normally expected, I had some semblance of anxiety over the concept of death. I was raised Catholic, though I am somewhat of an non-religious/religious epistemological wanderer now days. I had all the pieces in place to be contented with the concepts of death, being, afterlife, etc. but it eluded me anyways and I worried about it.
I have not exactly solved this problem, but death and I keep each other at arms length. It’s like constantly running into your grade school nemesis daily at the grocery store. We occasionally make eye contact, it’s awkward, I subtly observe them from a reasonable distance, then we part until the next unfortunate encounter.
The frequency of these meetings is likely to stay constant for the remainder of my life. I have decided that it’s best to be at peace with his appearance, understanding that if I should get too close, I will experience pain as a normal part of the human condition. I can find solace in reason and the domain of my own mind.
On Death
“The gods envy us. They envy us because we’re mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.” - Homer, The Iliad
All people develop a relationship with death over the course of their lives. It’s part of the human condition. These two deaths were not my only experience with death and will not be the last either. I can live my life with the knowledge that I will die and those whom I love will also die. The value of each moment is sweet because of the finiteness of its number.
The machine, the feather, and the fool
I was once a part of a group of three friends. We three were not the best-of-friends, but we were good friends.
Of the three of us, I am all that remains. Some years ago, she died in tragedy. With her passing our little ternion was broken. He and I faded apart in the years shortly thereafter. This past year, I received word that he too had died, succumbing to a form of madness and leaving Earth by his own hand.
I was personally close with them individually, each in different ways; and they were close to each other in different ways too. The years I spent with them were my more formative years and because of this, they are part of me now and I will carry them forever.
He was smarter than me; a master of machines. She was kinder than me; more spirit then woman. He was tougher than me; an outdoorsman and competitor. She was a deeper thinker than me; a seer of the magic present in the world.
We had adventures together and they taught me things. Our three lives circled each other and I think of my memories of them with great fondness.
There were other people in my life at the time that I would consider closer friends or some that were more distant friends, but this group of two other people fit perfectly, somewhere inside. I would venture to say that I loved them and I like to think that they loved me.
I could pour endless words out to the void for them, but what I would want to say to them, they likely already know. I miss them terribly and I wish things could have been different.