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Death Revisited
Sep. 1st, 2004 12:47 pmFor the third time in a relatively short period, death has visited somebody close enought to me that I know the person, while not so close that I felt attached to the individual.
In each case, the death has hurt folks to whom I do feel attachment and closeness.
This death was of a 19 year old with whom my wife has worked for several years. She had been worried about him. One of his life choices when he went to college last year was to join ROTC. Susan, who catastrophizes at times, worked very hard to not let her imagination of what might happen to him run away with her.
His death had nothing to do with ROTC, as it turned out. He and two friends were jogging near his college. He was crossing a street, about 5pm, and a truck hit him (but not them).
"He was such a good kid." "He had so much potential." These, the words of Susan, repeated several times through the phone call I had to make to her to let her know of his death.
And then: "Is it wrong of me to feel worse about his death when there are so many others who die and have died? For him vs. a homeless person or others?"
She had the urge to gather her kids, the teens she has and does work with, and just count them and make sure that they are all right. And then, to not let them out again unless she can watch over them.
I know this feeling well.
I can't protect you. I want to. I can't.
The comment was made to me last night that death reminds us of our own mortality. I suppose this may be true, though that was certainly more the case for Sonia's death than Greg's.
What Greg's death reminds me of is how powerless we are.
I was 'accused' of being power hungry, recently. I scoffed internally at this accusation (not having had a chance to scoff directly at the accuser).
But I think, in a certain way, my accuser was right.
I am power hungry. I am just not sure that this is a bad thing.
*hugs*
In each case, the death has hurt folks to whom I do feel attachment and closeness.
This death was of a 19 year old with whom my wife has worked for several years. She had been worried about him. One of his life choices when he went to college last year was to join ROTC. Susan, who catastrophizes at times, worked very hard to not let her imagination of what might happen to him run away with her.
His death had nothing to do with ROTC, as it turned out. He and two friends were jogging near his college. He was crossing a street, about 5pm, and a truck hit him (but not them).
"He was such a good kid." "He had so much potential." These, the words of Susan, repeated several times through the phone call I had to make to her to let her know of his death.
And then: "Is it wrong of me to feel worse about his death when there are so many others who die and have died? For him vs. a homeless person or others?"
She had the urge to gather her kids, the teens she has and does work with, and just count them and make sure that they are all right. And then, to not let them out again unless she can watch over them.
I know this feeling well.
I can't protect you. I want to. I can't.
The comment was made to me last night that death reminds us of our own mortality. I suppose this may be true, though that was certainly more the case for Sonia's death than Greg's.
What Greg's death reminds me of is how powerless we are.
I was 'accused' of being power hungry, recently. I scoffed internally at this accusation (not having had a chance to scoff directly at the accuser).
But I think, in a certain way, my accuser was right.
I am power hungry. I am just not sure that this is a bad thing.
*hugs*
