My mother told me this story when I was older, so this is as she remembers it. One day she saw me playing with something on our back patio. I was probably 5 or 6 years old. As she got closer, she realized I had a lizard. It was dead, but I was playing with it as though it were alive. My mother tried to tell me it was dead, but apparently I argued with her, and tried to show her how it was still alive by making it move.

This story has always made me question what death actually is. It’s not as simple as the ceasing of movement, growth or change. Indeed, the lizard itself was not alive, but as it decomposed, it was changing just as much as a growing tree or a living animal, and it certainly was a host for other organisms that are very alive in that process. It sort of raises that question of whether or not death is really an end, or just a stop in the road.

In a culture that seems fairly ego-centric, it can be easy for us to think that it is our end in this physical world, but I wonder if that method of thinking is something that only adds the the fear of it for most people. The main thing that disappears in death is our consciousness, or so we think, and for most that is an awful fate. I wonder if there is not another way to conceptualize with what we know happens, i.e. without religious explanations of the afterlife. Perhaps there is a way to suggest that it is not a stopping of things, but a kind of changing over, like moving to another state (pun intended?). Just some thoughts. Comments?

Once you’ve created a user name, and have been added to this blog as described on the homepage, you can login at http://www.wordpress.com and then write your own posts by going to the Write tab, and then the Write Post tab. Posts will make this blog easier to organize, but write however you feel comfortable.

It seems people feel a need to really ‘think about’ what they want to say. I would like to suggest that sometimes the thing that is most immediate is the also the most interesting and honest. Avoid thinking yourself into a corner, and don’t worry that you will be criticized by others. The site will be moderated, complaints heard if necessary (although I’m not expecting it to get to that point), and anything offensive or confrontational will simply not be allowed (of course, you’ll have to trust my discretion on that one). Make up an ID so that no one knows who you are if needed. Actually, the more anonymous this blog is, the more honest the words will probably be.

In case you need some brain fuel to get yourself thinking on this topic, here are a few statements and/or questions, but these are just for inspiration. There is no need to answer them if you are not so inclined. Post whatever you want:

Have you thought about, or come close to, your own death? Explain.

Has anyone in your family or circle of friends died? Talk about that.

If you haven’t had any experience with death, think about the fact that you will whether you want to or not. Write on that.

What about your response to simulated violence/death in the media?

What about a news story that struck you?

What about any major catastrophe?

What about war?

My father died when I was fourteen. It was after a long, horrific battle with brain cancer that left him blind and unable to control his speech and motor functions. Essentially, he went from being a fully functional human being to completely handicapped inside of a year. When he died, my mother was helping him get dressed to go visit the doctor because he was breathing funny. He technically died of a pulmonary embolism, which in this case was a blood clot near the lungs. It apparently was because he became so sedentary. The doctors explained this to my mother in ‘yes, this happens to people in this situation’ kind of way, as though it was common knowledge. Basically, had we gotten him up for walks daily he might have lived longer and perhaps even survived the treatment, although regaining sight and motor skills was another uphill battle.

The strange thing about it was that when he died, there was a certain amount of relief that seemed to wash over me, my younger brother, and my mother. I can remember my mother and grandmother getting in an argument during the funeral service because we weren’t crying. We were all kind of over it by that point. Really, we did all the crying when we realized he was dead.

But the relief was the strangest part of it all. It was a little like we knew he wasn’t going to ever be back to the person he was before he was diagnosed, and that perhaps dying was the best end. It was a circumstance that has caused me to frequently question if dying really is the worst thing in this world, even at a young age. This is not to suggest that life is so awful that I am thinking suicidally. In fact, I love my life right now. But when that inevitable moment comes, will I be thinking “oh no, this is the worst thing ever”, or will there be some kind of understanding that this is a chapter in some recursive metanarrative?

This blog is an artistic experiment intitiated by Stephen Eakin. It is meant as place to catalogue, store, and hopefully gain an understanding of our relationship with “that thing that happens to all of us”: death. This site is not intended as a place for the development of any kind of morbid or distasteful (you be the judge of what that means) fascination with death, but rather a way to link people with curiosities and a desire for a connection with others who ask those larger questions about what it means to die and to deal with it. This blog is as formal or informal as its users make it, and though it will be moderated, that moderation will only serve the purpose of maintaining the focus of this ongoing conversation. There is no right or wrong here. You need not to have actually seen someone die or even know anyone at all who has. This is merely an open forum to dicuss and explore something that only seems to be talked about when it happens. Please share your personal experiences, read through others’, and reflect on all of the above. SIGN UP!!

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