Wouldn't it be great if there was actually a guide to mourning? Like, "your relative died, this is the appropriate and healthy response, you're welcome". Life would be so much simpler.
My great great aunt died today. That probably does not seem like a big deal, because most people die before they have the opportunity to be anyone's great great anything. But my mum's family tend to be both unusually long of life and unusually close to one another, so it kind of is a big deal, because to me my great great aunt is almost on a par with a grandparent or a non-great aunt. Not that it makes it a big deal for you, because if you were sad every time someone's relative died, you would never stop being sad. IDK. "Big deal" is kind of hard to define.
I've been up in the Scottish Highlands for a week, for the purpose of a) spending time with my grandparents and b) climbing the shit out of some mountains. Today is my last full day, so we were preparing to leave for my last hike of the summer, when my nan materialised in front of me and was like "Auntie Eileen died in the early hours of the morning". My nan has a uniquely businesslike way of imparting bad news, which tends to rub off on the people she's imparting to, so I was just like "recieved and understood". Had you been watching the conversation but unable to understand English, you would probably have assumed we were talking about a sports result or the weather or something. It was kind of weird.
So then we left for our hike, which was actually the only hike of the week which took place upon a Proper Decent Mountain. I didn't realise this until I was climbing up it, but then I remembered that it's only a Proper Decent Mountain if you spend at least 60% of the time like "OH GOD MY LEGS ARE BURNING AHH AHH AHH". If you can remember what it's like to experience physical pleasure, then it doesn't count.
So I was caught up in drowning in lactic acid and admiring various views and meeting this other hiker and trying to understand his words through his Glaswegian brogue, which meant that I forgot about Eileen for most of the day. Which I then felt guilty about.
I have this theory about the difference between sadness and depression, which is that sadness can peacefully coexist with your other emotions without much interfering with them, whereas depression taints all good news and chokes every sensation of hope and happiness. Today seemed to reinforce that idea. The sadness of Eileen's death did not affect the beauty of mountains and the pain of climbing them, and vice versa.
Part of me reached the conclusion that the saddest thing about Eileen's death was how little impact it had. Eileen was the sweetest of sweet old ladies, composed of approximately 70% generosity and 28% love of family. But her being gone did not stop the Highlands from being beautiful, or most of her relatives from enjoying their day; it didn't even register with well over 99% of the human race. Why I think this is sad, I don't know. I certainly don't want beauty or enjoyment to cease after my death, and I somehow doubt that Eileen felt any different.
Maybe it's just the fact that death is something that one should pay attention to. Perhaps that's one of the purposes of family, to have a group of someones who will witness and acknowledge the end of your world. If so, then I haven't done that very well today. Until now, I suppose.
So maybe that's the how one is supposed to mourn one's relatives. Just quietly pay attention to their death for them, once they become incapable of paying attention to anything.
To Eileen.
My great great aunt died today. That probably does not seem like a big deal, because most people die before they have the opportunity to be anyone's great great anything. But my mum's family tend to be both unusually long of life and unusually close to one another, so it kind of is a big deal, because to me my great great aunt is almost on a par with a grandparent or a non-great aunt. Not that it makes it a big deal for you, because if you were sad every time someone's relative died, you would never stop being sad. IDK. "Big deal" is kind of hard to define.
I've been up in the Scottish Highlands for a week, for the purpose of a) spending time with my grandparents and b) climbing the shit out of some mountains. Today is my last full day, so we were preparing to leave for my last hike of the summer, when my nan materialised in front of me and was like "Auntie Eileen died in the early hours of the morning". My nan has a uniquely businesslike way of imparting bad news, which tends to rub off on the people she's imparting to, so I was just like "recieved and understood". Had you been watching the conversation but unable to understand English, you would probably have assumed we were talking about a sports result or the weather or something. It was kind of weird.
So then we left for our hike, which was actually the only hike of the week which took place upon a Proper Decent Mountain. I didn't realise this until I was climbing up it, but then I remembered that it's only a Proper Decent Mountain if you spend at least 60% of the time like "OH GOD MY LEGS ARE BURNING AHH AHH AHH". If you can remember what it's like to experience physical pleasure, then it doesn't count.
So I was caught up in drowning in lactic acid and admiring various views and meeting this other hiker and trying to understand his words through his Glaswegian brogue, which meant that I forgot about Eileen for most of the day. Which I then felt guilty about.
I have this theory about the difference between sadness and depression, which is that sadness can peacefully coexist with your other emotions without much interfering with them, whereas depression taints all good news and chokes every sensation of hope and happiness. Today seemed to reinforce that idea. The sadness of Eileen's death did not affect the beauty of mountains and the pain of climbing them, and vice versa.
Part of me reached the conclusion that the saddest thing about Eileen's death was how little impact it had. Eileen was the sweetest of sweet old ladies, composed of approximately 70% generosity and 28% love of family. But her being gone did not stop the Highlands from being beautiful, or most of her relatives from enjoying their day; it didn't even register with well over 99% of the human race. Why I think this is sad, I don't know. I certainly don't want beauty or enjoyment to cease after my death, and I somehow doubt that Eileen felt any different.
Maybe it's just the fact that death is something that one should pay attention to. Perhaps that's one of the purposes of family, to have a group of someones who will witness and acknowledge the end of your world. If so, then I haven't done that very well today. Until now, I suppose.
So maybe that's the how one is supposed to mourn one's relatives. Just quietly pay attention to their death for them, once they become incapable of paying attention to anything.
To Eileen.
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