Dealing with Death with no “Afterlife”
The word “afterlife” is an odd one. The very words used imply death. The idea that it stands for another world beyond our own (which is a grave contradiction) confuses and annoys me. I’m all for science fiction stories with parallel universes, but I realize they do not exist.
When people would tell my mom my dad’s in a better place, she got upset. And she’s a believer (albeit a lax one). “What better place? That’s not better!” My grandmother told me the story when she was burying my grandfather. People would say he’ll float up and she replied, “Then, why am I spending so much to put him in the ground?” And she’s also a believer of some type. The best thing I can say from this is that it was refreshing to hear some doubt amongst believers.
Prayer and the notion of an afterlife are comforting but does that make them OK. I suppose prayer doesn’t do much harm, as long as one don’t neglect prior physical and emotional obligations to oneself and those surrounding. But how harmful is the afterlife? It seems to devalue the current one, our big presentation. It lets people to believe life isn’t all that important. For some, it’s simply a comfort. A comfort that happens to be discomforting to me. Tomatoes, potatoes.
Struggling with my father’s death, I realize I’m more scared of this inevitability than I ever admitted or realized before. I’m not living in fear everyday but I see it. I’m also trying to live life to it’s fullest, so there’s a balance. After handfuls of family members, friends, and celebrities go, you feel vulnerable in life. This contributes, I can only gather, to the reasons for wanting to believe that we can be invincible in death. But it does nothing. I don’t see it; I don’t feel it. I can’t imagine how that could comfort me in any way.
Simply, I must to focus on the good things. He lived a full life. 79 ain’t bad. He made it to my parent’s 30th wedding anniversary. He was very proud of me; he spoke of me a lot to everyone. He was there for my wedding and I had a Rabbi perform the ceremony solely for him. (I would have preferred a comedian; he was alright with a Jewish comedian.) Yet the wedding was a very intimate affair so we just did the very reform Jewish-style wedding. To make my dad happy. And I’m glad I did though I protested for a bit. I didn’t have extravagant plans anyway, nor did I want a wasteful white wedding.
Now, Eric & I are moving to Miami to help my mom for about a year. He’s the most wonderful guy. My dad wanted me to move back home before he passed. I only wish I could hug him one more time, but at least we had had some very nice visits.
[blackrose, Self-portrait.]
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