Let me respectfully remind you:
Life and Death are of supreme importance.
Time swiftly passes by and opportunity is lost.
Each of us should strive to awaken.
Awaken, take heed, do not squander your life.
-- Buddhist Evening Gatha
My favorite author died this week, my boss died a few weeks ago, and today is the anniversary of my Mother's death. The thread of these three deaths has been at the forefront of my mind, no surprise. They are all tied together, in their base and inescapable human ways, but marked by such deep contrasts that it's impossible not to sift through and try to find meaning, to learn something of the nature of being in this time and place. To reflect on my own existence.
Every year on the day of my Mother's death, I write about her loss. On her birthday I try to make a post about her life. It's been three years since she died, and this time I'll depart from the usual pattern and talk of myself, and of others who have died recently.
David Foster Wallace was the pre-eminent postmodern author of the last 15 years. He was the person to best employ the English language since Shakespeare walked the Earth. He died this week, a suicide. He was 46. His work was intellectual and all-encompassing. He would write about subjects and consider all angles, paint them vividly, but always carried a specific intention of meaning and attitude towards what he was writing that shone through. His writing spared not a single ounce of truth, missed no branched paths to travel along, and appealed to the reader in only the most direct expressions he could muster. He towered in my mind as an example of giving only your best, unfailingly. Of juggling insight and madness and confusion and constructing glorious insight from within. To have him give up, decide not to try anymore, cuts me to the core. I had not realized he was my hero until he died, as I generally avoid having heroes.
I am flawed through and through. I try every day to be a better person, and fail. That is merely human, but maximally humiliating in practice. I don't know how to do it any differently. I just need to keep trying, harder and better. My Mom used to say, "such is life", and I've resorted to using that as my shield for pain and distress I encounter. Yet, particular circumstances of life are painful and beautiful in ways that shouldn't be reduced to aphorisms. You can't live without choosing meaning and vision broader then what you've been handed down by those who precede you. So, such is life, to question deeper then you're capable of understanding. The journey is the destination, goes another famous saying, but that's not always enough, as David Foster Wallace apparently decided.
My boss and friend Luke, who also committed suicide, died three weeks ago. Killed himself, yes, but in this case it's easier to understand why. He was diagnosed with cancer, and had a serious chance of not making it through treatment. The manner of his death was carefully planned. All his affairs were put in order, and he let no sign of his decision slip to those around him. A deliberate and personal choice of how to end his death. I don't harbor any ill-will to his decision. What I do think of, is his life - painted starkly sad in his death. He died here, a stranger to this city, with no close family and few friends. Only a co-worker to find him, in bed, naked and bruised and lifeless, and no way to express his pain without feeling guilt burdening those to whom he had few ties.
I have learned over time how to exist in a relationship, and share my life with another person. That is the truly rewarding accomplishment that I'll count on until the day I die. I have to work every day to not be selfish and to not close myself off. It's a constant struggle but one I feel I'm winning. James, I am sorry for my failings and glad for my successes, and I am so thankful for your presence that it hurts. There is nothing that could change my life more, or better, than my relationship with you.
Rosanne, my Mother, has been gone for years now. Not to suicide, but sudden - very sudden, at the age of 54. I no longer pick up the phone absent-mindedly, thinking to call her for advice or to chat. Often the saddest part of thinking of her is that it doesn't happen every day any longer. There is much I could now say about her, but I'll restrict myself this year to once again thanking her for never sparing an ounce in giving me whatever she could. For sending me into this world as a human being, capable of compassion and forgiveness.
What comes before and what comes after is mere shadow next to this moment. I tell of these people to shine up the past, make a flicker of connection, and to feel less alone. Picking and choosing certain words to make years of random meaningful moments align. Right now I'm still breathing, and in agony over these losses, each in different ways. I wonder what story might be told of me, my life and death. I wonder how I can change that story in the time I have left.
That was very nice jim. It is nice that you can share this much. I have not been in your shoes, although I had a friend who killed himself. He was happy once and then he took too much acid and was never the same again. He died on the second attempt at his life. He didn't have cancer but there was something unlocked in him from the drugs that he couldn't handle.
Anyways, thank you for your post to remind us all to count our blessings.
(e:Jim), that is excellently written post.
I know, not many people would agree, but I really don't view calculated suicide as a negative or a defeatist thing to do. I see it as a way of asserting some control over your own death. Since death is an un-dissectable part of life, suicide is, by extension, an attempt at bringing an extra (though rather morbid) element of control into your life.
People who decide on suicide often have had a string of uncontrollable events happen to them before the act. It takes a very strong mind indeed to go against evolutionary traits and decide on ending's one's life.
This is not to say that I recommend suicide or support it. I just want to point out that the fact that someone committed suicide doesn't automatically mean that they have given up completely. There is always an element of victory in acheiving what one sets out to do and in their case, it was ending their own life.
It may have a un-erasable social stigma attached to it because its seen as an awful thing to do to your family and friends. But that's about the feeling of others left behind. Why don't people think about the those who have chosen death of their own free will? They probably couldn't completely live the life they would have chosen to live so they just went ahead and chose death. The anger and pain of those who are left behind can in perhaps in no way compare to the anger and pain of people who who are left feeling trapped in life as well as death.
Your post is hauntingly beautiful. I am sorry for your losses.
Also, you made me want to read Wallace. I am embarrassed that I have not yet.
A beautiful post. Thank you.
Hey Jim -
I remember your posts about your mother fondly. I particularly appreciated how you posted pictures of your mom on vacations and in family environments. You are one of three people who I know who lost their mother too early, and so I feel sadness in seeing somebody suffer through an event like that. This time of year has got to be a dark time for you emotionally - God knows it would be for me. I never met your mother, but it was obvious to me in seeing pictures and reading your stories that she was an integral part of your life. I suppose the struggle is in balancing the part of you that wishes you could talk to her right now, along with the other part of you that wants to focus on the positive rather than the negative. My grandpa was a parent to (e:jason) and I, and watching him die burned a hole in my heart that I deal with still today.
I don't know what else to say, so I'll just leave it at that. I know you are an atheist, but let me offer it anyway - God Bless your mom and everyone else you care about who are gone.