[Sigh], It's been an interesting weekend; wrought with introspection and reunions. As I sat, listening to my first ever, live, eulogy (which was lovely, very personal and relevant); not surprisingly, I began to ponder life's meaning. What makes someone's [mortal] life important and worthwhile with the fewest regrets. I suppose that all depends on the individual - success in life likely means something different to different people. But I'm guessing the vast majority of individuals consider it making a positive, lasting impact, of some sort, on the world and/or the people in it; a legacy if you will. Some people rank their life's value in the number of people who will mourn their departure from this world, but as I sat with the tears welling up in my eyes; I thought to myself, "What would this person, if they were observing their own memorial service, want me and everyone else here to feel right now? And how do I want my loved ones to react to my death?"
Suffice it to say, after attending my first funeral, I don't believe funerals are the way in which the dead wish to be honored. I've never considered death to be the end and even if this life is our only one; I'm perfectly content to live the rest of my days in my current naive and ignorant state. I also believe our next residence is far more euphoric then this life and those who reach it are quite happy to arrive. That said, I believe the dead would prefer a celebration of their life - not a mourning of their death. The death of a loved one is certainly not an easy event to endure, but the severity of its effect is aggravated by the lengths to which our society will go to avoid the topic and even the thought of death. I, too, subscribe to this lack of acknowledgment towards our own mortality; submerging myself so deeply in my daily events, that there are absolutely no neurons left to commit towards the topic.
Why? Because I'm petrified, not so much of dying, but of unexpectedly loosing someone close to me and not having the strength to recover; of curling up in a perpetual fetal position of grief and sorrow. Or of unexpectedly dying such that those who love me are not able to recover. The irony is that this self-preservative mechanism of pretending death doesn't exist out of fear only serves as a catalyst to the fear itself. Everyone I love and hold near and dear is going to die, at some point: my [potential] husband, my parents, even my [potential] children. And so am I.
I now realize it's important for me to remember that, everyday. Not because I'm a cynical goth-child consumed with the darker side of existence, but because I don't want fear to be a part of my equation. I don't ever want to stifle my life or anyone else's because of my trepidation. I want to love deeply, endlessly, and spontaneously without ever worrying about the consequences of loss. And since the only effective way to conquer fear is by facing it; I will remember each day that I could loose all that I love at any moment, all the while knowing that no amount of pain, anguish, or suffering will ever subdue me. I will grieve, I will suffer, I will recover, and I will continue on with my life.
That's what I wish for those who attend my funeral. Death is a part of life; shed the tears you must and then celebrate my life by continuing my legacy; convey and impart all those pleasant characteristics within me most loved and missed. And that's just what I'm going to do.