This blog belies my real relationship with its subject matter. Despite all you’ve seen here, I don’t like death.
It’s probably time for me come out about a few things:
I’ve never seen a dead body. (That’s not counting bog bodies and mummies in museums.)
I have been fascinated with death — particularly its physical aspect — since childhood. Before I settled on my various courses of study in college and grad school, I considered becoming an undertaker, a forensic anthropologist, or a pathologist. I never did, of course. In high school, I took a course on sports medicine and during a slide show of injuries, I blacked out at the sight of a severed hand sitting on a table. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hang with that kind of career, and I’ve been only a spectator ever since.
I am deeply, terribly afraid of dying. This has been an issue for me since childhood, when I used to repeat the sentence “I am going to die” to myself in my head, over and over, in hopes that that would make the truth more understandable. But it never did. It still hasn’t, and I’m 33. I white-knuckle turbulence on planes. Meanwhile, my boyfriend is serene. He knows death is inevitable and doesn’t understand my fear. I know death is inevitable, too. But I don’t feel it, and I’m not ready to accept it yet.
When my father died in 2004, I was halfway across the country from him and wasn’t with him in his last few days. He and my mother didn’t want me to see what was happening to him. I have never asked my mother to tell me what watching him die was like. In my dreams, he keeps showing up, alive, like a logical puzzle I can’t ever solve. I still don’t fully comprehend the fact that he’s dead, even seven years later. I didn’t see it. I wonder if that’s why.
Thanks for reading.
I have no particular fascination with the subject, but information about death and its physical effects is always interesting. Not to mention the arts and rituals that human beings engage in to honor or otherwise meaningfully recognize death. I think this sort of education is what has made me so accepting of the inevitability of corporeal existence, and thus why I strive to live while I can, even if I fuck up along the way.
This is an interesting blog. It’s worth a follow.
Edit: Actually, all of Amanda’s blogs are awesome.
This blog belies my real relationship with its subject matter. Despite all you’ve seen here, I don’t like death.
It’s probably time for me come out about a few things:
I’ve never seen a dead body. (That’s not counting bog bodies and mummies in museums.)
I have been fascinated with death — particularly its physical aspect — since childhood. Before I settled on my various courses of study in college and grad school, I considered becoming an undertaker, a forensic anthropologist, or a pathologist. I never did, of course. In high school, I took a course on sports medicine and during a slide show of injuries, I blacked out at the sight of a severed hand sitting on a table. I knew I wouldn’t be able to hang with that kind of career, and I’ve been only a spectator ever since.
I am deeply, terribly afraid of dying. This has been an issue for me since childhood, when I used to repeat the sentence “I am going to die” to myself in my head, over and over, in hopes that that would make the truth more understandable. But it never did. It still hasn’t, and I’m 33. I white-knuckle turbulence on planes. Meanwhile, my boyfriend is serene. He knows death is inevitable and doesn’t understand my fear. I know death is inevitable, too. But I don’t feel it, and I’m not ready to accept it yet.
When my father died in 2004, I was halfway across the country from him and wasn’t with him in his last few days. He and my mother didn’t want me to see what was happening to him. I have never asked my mother to tell me what watching him die was like. In my dreams, he keeps showing up, alive, like a logical puzzle I can’t ever solve. I still don’t fully comprehend the fact that he’s dead, even seven years later. I didn’t see it. I wonder if that’s why.
Thanks for reading.
I have no particular fascination with the subject, but information about death and its physical effects is always interesting. Not to mention the arts and rituals that human beings engage in to honor or otherwise meaningfully recognize death. I think this sort of education is what has made me so accepting of the inevitability of corporeal existence, and thus why I strive to live while I can, even if I fuck up along the way.
This is an interesting blog. It’s worth a follow.
Edit: Actually, all of Amanda’s blogs are awesome.
ALT
