and, here, it's entirely different. death feels shameful, at times, in this american culture. it's an unspoken reality of life that we rarely speak of. it's tied to the unpleasantness of planning out our wills - trying to determine how our legacies will thrive and live after we are gone. death fascinates me because of the elaborate way we construct ourselves to exit the earth and the various ways in which we do so.
i guess it's been on my mind since june when my grandmother passed away. i watched how my family fractured over how to handle her passing. my grandpa refused to hold a funeral. she wanted to be cremated, and she didn't want a big fuss about her. which, in hindsight, is how she lived her life. perhaps a huge celebration of life would have embarrassed her. i guess i'll never know. so her ashes were split between the family so we could celebrate her in ways personal to us and reflective of the impact she had in our lives.
for my parents, her death became a signal to their mortality. it started the conversation of how they wanted to leave the world. no fuss, my mom said. bury me in a george strait t-shirt and all my favorite compact discs. 'i need something to listen to.' my dad fell silent. the only time we've talked about him is when he had his triple bypass. which was when wills were reviewed and tentative plans made just in case.
it's funny how we don't plan for the end. or think about how we want to exit the world despite spending hours, weeks and years comprising the life we want for ourselves. or how we dedicate thousands of dollars on clothes, electronics, homes, vacations, etc. we spend, i suppose, so much time grounded in the now that the meat of our legacy becomes one of accumulations, not acts. and, in death, all we have is our legacy - the memories that spin into stories, tales and fables. i wonder what mine will be. and what things will define my memory? what emotions? what stories?
beyond the actual physical death, how do we commemorate the life? do we hold massive funerals that become somber, sad occasions? does the moment morph into a celebration, ripe with song, life and energy? it's all so varied depending on family, religion, ethnicity, impact, planning, on and on and on. every moment, from the initial viewing to the photos, burial, flowers, song choices, and everything in between...tells a story of our culture and, more astutely, the culture of that family. which makes me question how the italian current of my family allowed my grandma to pass away virtually unnoticed. maybe it's a result of my grandpa's marine-discipline to not show emotion that led the charge. i just don't know.
what i do know is that i'm amazed at the lengths we go to keep life alive. my cousin, a victim of a motorcycle accident in 2003, has a cement bench over his resting place. the choice still intrigues me - since this tempts a moment to sit when he was a boy more likely to stay in motion. my grandma rests in a small urn. a family friend rests in a coffin. and my cat sits in a tiny brown box underneath my growing pine tree. i've heard stories of people released into the ocean, ashes turned to diamonds, ashes becoming pencil lead and massive parties to send people off in style. but my newest discovery is around richmond - bumper stickers. in the past week i've encountered two very different bumper stickers remembering two people whose lives i'm suddenly curious about. and i'm incredibly interested about the decisions that led to these bumper stickers. why this?
what do you think?
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