I haven't posted here for a while, but I wanted to visit my DU friends and share an essay I wrote reflecting on death and dying and why we mourn celebs:
DEATH
When my nephew was six or seven years old, he composed a short poem which still gives me chills -- he had no idea what it meant (or maybe he did) and I have no idea how he wrote it, but it's as deep and dark as anything I've read:
Soon it comes to every person,
See it happen in one black curtain
Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, are names from my youth who have now gone behind the black curtain. Not to mention the far more disturbing murder of Neda Soltani, whose life bled away in front of us, her eyes staring off into that infinite distance only the dying see.
I wrote this on Twitter: "With the loss of anyone famous what we're really mourning is the passage of our own lives, their death a marker on OUR journey."
I wrote it because death is ever-present and life is ever-shrinking. For some of us, death is an obsession, for others, barely an afterthought. My childhood was bombs and bullets and bodies and burning buildings, so I'm of the former. The thought of eternal non-existence is unthinkable, mortifying beyond words. If that's the fate that awaits us, it's a wonder that we don't all curl up and scream in endless horror. Some people do, figuratively.
Death is life's greatest motivator, for good and evil, fueling our futile quest to 'matter' - futile, because the people we seek to 'matter to' are themselves reaching out to us to give them meaning. It's like two jumpers hurtling to earth, each reaching to the other, but neither with a foothold and both doomed to the same end. Some try to matter by helping others, some by hurting others, all with the desire to be remembered, to bridge an unbridgeable gap, to leave some kind of a mark, to prove that they existed...
The rest is here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/peter-daou/death_b_221260.html