There was a time when I believed that death was a part of life and as such, was something with which I was comfortable. I revered the wisdom of friends like Angie whose sincere response to the question, “Are you afraid to die?” was “No, what's there to be afraid of? It'll just be like when George Washington was alive.” For a fraction of a second it sounds naive, but ask yourself, “What was it like when George Washington was alive (not historically – for you personally)?” Was it good ? Was it bad? Bet it wasn't either. That used to make me feel better. Similarly, Sammi still insists that she's not worried about dying when she's blinded under white water in a kayak because if she died it would just be dying. She's much more concerned about the possibility of getting hurt. She has a point - especially in terms of the George Washington factor.
Lately though, the George Washington factor has taken on a new flavor. See, the thing about the George Washington factor is that it only works when framed in a personal way. It provides no defense against the mind boggling absurdity of the fact that death is fundamentally different than leaving, or for that matter, than never being seen again. For instance, my mother's former boss had some sort of personal crisis a year ago, quit her job, and moved to New Mexico. Given that I never had any sort of relationship with the woman, she should have essentially been dead to me the day she left. Well, she died today and now she doesn't exist - which is very different than someone I met once now living in New Mexico.
This is a little hard to take, but it's even harder if you factor in history's most creepy parlor trick. The year before my father's suicide my family took this quaint little European vacation to France, Italy, and Spain. All sorts of history to experience. But for me, many of those experiences weren't quite what I expected. I had heard a lot about the “energy” that haunts settings of atrocities of long ago (think personal testimony from Auschwitz 1998) and was expecting it around every marbled masterpiece with a bloodied past and each piazza that witnessed an infamous execution. In fact, I was eager for it. But time and again it eluded me – even on The Bridge of Sighs.
Finally though, we stumbled upon Castello Estense in Ferrara Italy, a moated medieval castle surround by one of Europe's best preserved ancient city walls. Though, in actuality, there were no historical occurrences that would even register on the odious European events scale, we were practically the only human beings touring the fortress that afternoon. As such, every artifact seemed to have a certain intimacy about it much like the way you can almost feel the knife in your childhood back during a really good round of murder in the dark. When we came through the corridor to the Prison of Parisina I was certain it would happen. I mean look at it (thanks Wikipedia):
The Prison of Parisina was a prison within a prison, a sub-cell of the usual jail and torture chamber. It even had a good story. Once upon a time, Parisina, the second wife of the Marquis of Ferrara, fell in love with Ugo, her step son. They were discovered, imprisoned, and beheaded (around 1400 AD). Their candle smoke etchings can still be seen on the ceiling of the chamber. In that prison I touched indentations in ancient walls worn from leaning shackled bodies and visualized the doomed hands - scared and beaten - that wrote upon the walls. And eventually I was overcome by something blood chilling and invisible.It was history's creepiest parlor trick. Despite all this macabre, I was suddenly acutely aware that the worn walls were just worn walls, void of any sort of supernatural energy. No essence remained. Nothing was left of Parisina or Ugo. What was it like when Parisina was alive? Was it good ? Was it bad? Bet it wasn't either. And the chill became an emptiness and the emptiness remained. And what is emptiness but non-existence? And what is non-existence but death?.
I believed I was comfortable with death as a part of life, but the metaphysics of nonexistence defeat me.
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