metanoia's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I Croak Alone I was talking to a friend about death. Well, he was talking about it. His father died and he was not able to be there when it happened. He had visited him every day for two weeks before he died, but on that day he decided he would go later in the day. His father died in the morning. I have a feeling he feels guilty about not being there. He would never say that, but I think he feels that way; or maybe just a sadness that he could not be there for his father to the last breath. I told my friend I would rather die alone, and so am writing this for anyone who reads it to understand that although I love you all dearly, I really, really do want to die by myself, alone. I do not want my last glimpse of life to be my body encircled by the worried and sad faces of those I love and who love me looking down upon me. I don't want to contort and drool and piss and shit as my body goes through the process of death while others look on - aghast, disgusted, frightened. Just leave me alone. Please. Maybe I can excuse myself or say something like, "Could you all give me a moment? I'm going to die now." Not that they would cooperate, I'm sure. Knowing my group they would deny I was anywhere near death and refuse to leave, as though their presence could change that universal inevitability. "Don't be silly" they would say, "You're not dying." Oh, my God. I heard a story that sometimes aboriginal people have an inner knowledge of their "dying time" and go into the bush and die alone. I understand this. I respect it. Really, it sounds good to me. I could crawl under the house and die, then be found later. That would work. I could go out in the woods, and as the sunlight dappled the leafy ground I could croak, and croak alone. I don't care if my body is found, but of course those that remain will want one. Those who remain among the living will want a body to fiddle with. The morbid bastards. They say funerals are for the living. It is true. And, I guess, they are much more meaningful if you have a body to cry over and mourn. So, if I go out in the woods, I'll have to leave a trail or a note or something. Just to be considerate so they can find my body and do their thing with it. Oh, cranky, obstinate and contrary to the last aren't I? Well, I hope so. Whether I will be allowed to die alone remains to be seen. I hope I don't find out for a very long time. 2:52 p.m. - 2006-08-21 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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