
My Last Grandparent is dying. My Mother's father is slowly slipping into the next phase of existence. Last spring my other Grandfather died, and left only Max (my mother's father) as the oldest member of our family. Soon my parents will be the oldest generation. It is weird how death can seem so abstract and yet is finite. Thinking about it gives me a kind of numb surreal feeling of mortality, but no real sadness.
I joke with my family about how I am the finder of all dead pets. When I was 7 I watched out Basset hound Barney fall off a chair and break his back. Also in elementary school I caught my father euthanizing our gerbils with ether in the garage. At 12 I had to pull our other Basset's body out of our pool when she drown in a rain storm. At 17 found our Chesapeake bay retriever after he died in his sleep. Thinking back on all of these experiences I don't feel sad or some how scarred, but it makes me ponder my own grieving process. When someone or something close to me dies I shove it into this space of mental limbo, where they feel neither fully gone or present. Like my Father I am a stoic. I prefer to rationalize the passing of a loved one rather than confront the emotional finality of their death.
One of the things that makes humans unique among animals is our ability to convert death into something meaningful. I realize that this subject is much to profound for my piddely little blog, But I am curious what some of you have learned from death. I apologize for the morbidity of this post, and I appreciate all of your sympathies in advanced. However, If you do decide to comment I am curious to hear how you have dealt with death in your own life and what you have gained.