La Muerte

I think about death a lot.

It could be because I am depressed. It could be that I watch nothing but Investigation Discovery. Or it could be that life is only temporary, that someday we will all meet our maker and that this doesn't scare me as much as it would someone else because I don't fear what is inevitable.

Death isn't a bad thing. It's just the end of a life. You only have so much breath in you, your heart will only beat so many times until it stops.

My grandmother passed away three months ago. She was very sick and we knew it was only a matter of time, but I was still shocked when it actually happened. At her wake, she was in this gigantic pink double vaulted casket that had flowers all over it, wearing a bright pink suit. I touched her hand. It was cold. I don't know what I expected, she was dead. She was gone. I knew that. But knowing this information didn't spare me the shock of touching her cold lifeless hand. This woman who loved me fiercely was gone, all that was left was her shell.

At the funeral my father kisses her on the forehead before they closed her casket. Just as he kissed my grandfather at his funeral. I wondered if the shock of the cold skin registered with him as it did with me. He did it before, 14 years earlier, but I wonder if he thought the same things I thought. Felt the same feelings I felt.

I often think about my own death. The thought of not knowing what comes next scares me. I was raised to believe in an afterlife, but now that I'm older and wiser I don't think anything comes next. I just picture, blackness. A cold, empty darkness. I feel very empty and dark right now...so will not breathing make a difference? I wonder who will miss me when I'm gone, who will come to my funeral, who will visit my grave on my birthday or Christmas and bring fake flowers, balloons and stuffed animals to my headstone, even though its tacky, just to let ME know, wherever I am, that they wish I was with them instead.

I don't know why I wonder these things. I know my curiosity will never be satisfied, as when I do die, I will never see what will happen. That doesn't stop me from wondering, from thinking about how bad the people who have fucked me over will feel when they find out I'm dead. A vindictive thought, but one that happens.

Mortality will always be in the front of my mind. I will always wonder because I will never know the truth. Somehow I find this even more sad than actually dying.