The day I learned about death
When I was about seven(or maybe nine) I learned something that has stayed with me throughout my life.
It occurred at a local gas station where I drove with my dad to fill up the car. I have a very vivid memory of sitting in the front seat and I was not wearing a seat belt. Strangely enough, I have a lot of childhood memories that don’t contain seat belts. Weird how that never seemed abnormal. Who knows? Maybe people used to drive better or slower or both.
(A quick internet search just revealed that wearing seatbelts wasn’t legally required in California until January 1986. WOW! Not sure what is scarier? That it took so long or that we were so clueless.)
I can visualize the interior of the car but not the make. Brown? Beige? I do remember that the seats were smooth to the touch and that my legs didn’t quite touch the floor of the car.
For some reason, I asked my dad if I was going to die. Maybe we had lost a family pet or I had seen something on television. Honesty, I have no idea where the question came from.
Poor dad. I remember that it was morning but I wasn’t in school. Therefore it was probably a weekend. Had he even had his first cup of coffee? Why not the “Is Santa Claus real?” or “Is there an Easter bunny?” question?
To his credit he looked directly at me and said, “Yes sweetie. Everybody dies.”
To which I responded by crying hysterically.
I don’t remember how long I cried for but I do have a vague memory of us sitting in the car together while my dad waited for my sobs to subside.
I don’t remember anything after that. Maybe we discussed it more or we just went about our day.
And yet… that memory has stuck with me ever since.
With understanding comes sadness
At that time I am not sure if I understood what being dead meant. The memory is mostly visual so most of the emotional components aren’t as clear to me now. I just remember feeling upset and sad. As if I had learned the biggest, saddest, most horrible secret of all time.
Since then I have learned what dead means. My sister and I have said goodbye to our mom when we were too young and our grandfather when he wasn’t old enough. I have watched as a stroke took me from my grandma’s memories before she left us. Also shared the sadness as my husband’s mom faded away in front of her husband and 9 children. I have cried over the passing of too many beloved pets. And listened to the reports of so many people all over the world who have died for reasons that never seem good enough. All of this makes me so incredibly sad.
It is not a secret
My brain knows that this is how it is. Circle of life. Aging body. Life expectation. War. Accidents. Illness. Yes! I get all of that. I also realize, intellectually, that this stuff starts to seem more real as you get older. As subtle and not so subtle lines start forming on mine and loved ones’ faces. When hair starts down its path to white or non-existent and medical issues become the predominant subject in family conversations. Some part of me has realized all of this for a while.
I recall that once people I was close to started passing I became aware of the potential shortness of life. So, to the best of my abilities, I tried to embrace each moment just in case I didn’t get another one like it. But it was, at best, an intellectual exercise created because my brain told me it was important. Somehow doing so gave me a sense of control. And because lately, I have been dealing with some anxiety issues(more in other posts), I have come to realize that this need for control has a source. These issues stem mostly from the simple fact that I don’t want to die and feel like somehow controlling things around me will affect that in some way.
When my mom died we had a service at a Buddhist temple she had been visiting before and during her illness. I don’t remember much about the service except a few lines from the words the monk spoke. He said that when someone is born everyone around is joyful while the new baby is crying. Conversely, when someone dies the person passing is joyful while all those around are crying and distraught. I think it has to do with the belief in reincarnation being a more joyful process at the end of life. Nonetheless, as I eye my last “60” years I can’t help but feel like I will be more like the baby at the end.
The legacy of the gas station
What has secretly been eating at me since the gas station is the singular fact that… one day I, Lisa Fogelson, will be dead. No longer walking this earth and eating too much chocolate. Yes! I know! Duh!! But that one thing sucks beyond all imagining!!!
