Dead

My mother died 11 months ago today. My father died 11 years ago. Lately, the reality that one day I will die haunts me in the still of the night. Part of the fear is Calvinist fear, that I will stay dead for eternity never reunited with other saved souls. Underlying that fear is a more terrible feeling than fear, what Camus called “estrangement” but in less high-faluten terms: it is simply the terrible feeling of being very lonely.

In reflecting on her life, in these months after her death, I have probably given the most thought to how she raised me. She raised me as a single Mom under tremendous duress. And she raised me with a goal of becoming self-reliant. She made many sacrifices, raising me to become emotionally independent, is the sacrifice that made her the most sad. I know because she said so. Until recently, the scope and scale of the feeling and the impact that it had on her was lost on me.

Lyrics:

I will never say the word “procrastinate” again
I’ll never see myself in the mirror with my eyes closed.

…

Did a large procession wave their torches as my head fell in the basket,
And was everybody dancing on my casket?
Now it seems that I’m dead and I haven’t done anything that I want,
Or I’m still alive and there’s nothing I want to do.