The decades of learning, loving and experience which are then extinguished. Too often death is "glamourised" or "glossed over" in the media. But when I hear the phrase "hundreds of dead", or even "scores of dead", or maybe just "one man died", I am all too often struck by the knowledge of the real loss that is entailed. The life. That's what it is. The fact that life has gone; not biological functions, since they are purely mechanistic, but what is "above" those things. What makes us what we are. Our capacity to love, to give, to hurt and hate. All gone.

I think death is probably alot less terrible for the person who dies, than for those who stay behind. One of the reasons why we fear death is probably because we think it's going to be painful - a conclusion we come to when we see someone suffer from illness before they die, or the blood that is sometimes involved; one thinks of how it stings to even just prick oneself with a needle, and that therefore death has to be truly terrible. But I'm sure our vital organs are probably alot less sensitive to sensation than our fingers. I don't know, but I think to die is probably quite an easy, painless thing, certainly less painful than to be born. But the superstition and dark clouds surrounding it must come from the pain and helplessness we experience when somebody dies.

Absolutely. I liked that part about the organs being less susceptible to pain; it must be true because people are often in the end stages of an unnamed disease before it's detected. No symptoms. But if you burn your finger you sure know it in a hurry. That capacity to love, give, etc. is passed on as a legacy to those left behind, and hopefully they (we) recycle that energy and pass it on too, when we go.

Yes, energy. I love the images the thought evokes.

Dying in a dream was probably one of the most traumatic things I ever went through.

What was your dream?

I don't think I've ever actually died in a dream... I've fallen, been in wrecks and accidents, out of control and beyond reach... but not dead. *knock on that superstitious piece of driftwood*

have had dreams where i was already dead. don't think you lose anything but the shell you are living in. your soul is what goes on. so, yes, death must be worse for the folks who are left behind. but still, death evokes images of such horror, mostly the dying part, not after.

You're right. I once dreamt I got shot in the head (after managing to shoot myself in the foot while target shooting with my airgun!). I remember seeing the bullet fly towards my eyes, and the sheer terror at the thought that in less than a second I'd be dead. And then it hit me, and there was nothing. No pain. Just that pleasant floating feeling that one gets while falling asleep. I still woke up in cold sweat though; just the superstitions created by seeing people mourn at a deathbed are enough to make me fear death as something terrible. But I think when the moment arrives, it will be quite different. Because then I'll be able to see and face this unknown force - just to see the source, to know what I fear lessens the fear for me. And I suspect it will be far less dramatic than one thinks.

i was shot, too. also in the head, as it happens. all i remember is it being a big shock, and it being *so* black. inescapable blackness.

Hmm, not very pleasant. Still I think the drama of death is overrated.

Death dreams about myself are unsettling, but those about my loved ones are devastating.

those are horrible, you really think it happened too, you know?

You're right - they are devastating. I also find it very painful when I dream that my grandfather is still alive, and then when I wake up having to return to the reality of him having been dead for nearly ten years already, and being so far away from where he lived. Wish one didn't have to dream things like that.

I've had those reverse dreams, too, about my grandmother; I always attributed it to the fact that we were in Europe when she died and I never even knew about it. When my mom picked me up at the airport, she told us--it was fait accompli. I never got to mourn or say good-bye or anything. For a long time I would actually forget she was dead for a while. She seems so alive in my dreams that I just lie there and have a good cry when I awaken.

autumn, i always ask the dead to come visit in my dreams. this way i know they're alright. funny, but i lost a dog and cat. it tore me up so i asked to dream about them. you know, they were so happy! (the dog, i had to put down, and i was feeling really guilty). also, a co-worker of mine passed away and he has visited too. it may just be my mind helping to ease my suffering, but i believe in it!

Maybe if I took this approach it would be less unsettling and actually fulfilling. At least it might give me some closure. I will definitely try it, Wolf.

I watched as my granddad died - that was more than all the closure I could handle. I hate waking up and he's still dead.

I have never been able to attend a relative's funeral, etc... no idea how I'll take it when the "opportunity" arises...

With great caution. I've only been to my grandfather's funeral, and it was ghastly. Relatives of whose existence I had not even been aware of before that, descending, discussing what they were going to get as they stood around his grave wiping away their crocodile tears. I remember wishing they would all be struck as dead as he was by lightning. Horrible business. Never again. And I want to be cremated someday. None of that for me.

i've never been to a funeral, either. can't say i've ever had the chance, or the desire.

the only funeral i've been to was my grandmother's and i couldn't stand it. i was a preteen and everybody was bawling. i hated the way she looked in the casket. not that i haven't the opportunity to attend others, they do nothing for me (except make me feel terrible), it won't bring them back; however, other people have made it their job to tell me how horrible it is that i won't attend. hell, when i make that move, i want everyone to have a wake, and not sit around fussing about me (i've always hated big to-do's)

I've been to more than I can count, and there's something exhilaratingly emotional about them. I don't find them particularly gruesome or ghoulish; it's just the final step in a process and I can honor that.

I've been to three, two friend's fathers in high school, and one co-worker's...just not to any for members of my family

please knock on some wood *knocking on wood*

when i was nine years old i was 9 years old and i went to my friend's dad's funeral didn't know what it was, so i projected stuff about it, felt i had to (y'know how it is sometimes, right?) i saw people in front of me walkin up to him and it seemed like they were talkin to him so when i got to the open casket, i thought i was supposed to talk to him while Doug, my other friend, was kicking my leg, i offered my friend's father my jacket (what's it called?: when you wear a suit, and it's the outer jacket part of it---that was the last time i wore a suit) he wasn't wearing anything but a shirt all i was really wanting to do anyway was just make conversation with him i knew he wasn't gonna thank me for the jacket but Doug's mom came up to me when i started to take off my suit jacket she said, "Jim, wouldn't ya like to talk to Autumn, she's right over there between summer and winter, see her?"---and she pointed somewhere far away from the casket my friend's dad said, "so does this mean i have to lie here and freeze, Louise?" right then, Doug's mom's brain practically fried in two, she fainted straight away and we had to haul her outa there and dump her in the back of the stationwagon my friend's dad drove us home never did lend him my jacket he drove real well for a dead man, but the ride kept makin' me wonder who in the heck that Autumn was....never even got a look at her been to a buncha funerals with Harold and Maude since then and they was purdy fun alright

I love Harold and Maud - saw it about ten times.. Don't feel that sense of adventure and weirdness at funerals though.

I'm confused, but intrigued. I'm obviously missing something obvious here, Jim - please enlighten me :)

maybe i'm just too much of a private person when it comes to grief. maybe cuz people tell me not to cry. i'd rather visit the gravesite afterwards, by myself. guess people have their own way of dealing with death. a friend of mine just lost his mother (he is 60-something). it never gets easier. he says it's his turn next (he's had a stroke but still has his mind, people think he can't feel the loss, get real!)

(oh, and why do people tell you not to cry?)

Because they can't handle it.

that's pretty darned selfish, don't you think?

Absolutely!!

I hate that too. Telling a person how to grief, imagine! And the way they say, well, really it IS better for the person to be dead. Like, in what way?! How can they possibly tell?

i always tell my children that those who die are in heaven and never have to worry for anything. these eases it, especially when i had to explain Mr. Mac's mother's death (my 60 year old friend). You see, Mr. Mac is cared for by my children's sitter, and they are very close to him. They were so sweet to him yesterday. I clipped a rose from my garden and gave it to the kids. They hugged and kissed Mr. Mac and he just loved the rose. He carried it around with him. they asked me why people die and i told them because God needed them to do something important. try to be truthful without scaring them, you know?

many times a man lives and dies between his two eternities that of race and that of soul and ancient ireland knew it all. whether a man dies in bed or whether the rifle knocks him dead a brief parting from those dear is the only thing he has to fear. and though gravedigger's toil is long sharp his spade, his muscles strong he but thrusts his buried men back, in the Human Mind, again... (william yeats) believe this to be true... and that is enough, for me...

Yes, that I understand, Wolf. I think we SHOULD try to make it a little easier on our children.

Could it be that the most powerful force that people give themselves to is the need for security? Aren't there many things that give people security? Things like: self-esteem boosting, ambition, so-called love, aggression toward others, conceitedness, arrogance, habitual ways of thinking about things, rituals, friends, money, creative endeavors, accomplishing a feat, addictions, passing joys, depression, beliefs, ideals, tv, telephone conversations, righteousness, anxiety that feels right, posing, attention, ego, selfishness, clothes that impress us, houses and cars that impress us, competition, standards....and doesn't the list go on and on to include anything and everything that we can turn into fulfilling our need for psychological security? What is really going on inside grief? There is loss, right? And what is that loss based on? Isn't it primarily or entirely rooted in how it feels to not have what we're used to having? Do we care about the person who is gone at all, or do we care about how that loss affects us? Isn't it really that psychologically we feel less secure now with the loss, and that what we are really grieving isn't the dead, but how we don't have what we are so used to and dependent upon? Have you ever thought that maybe the mind, in its deepest reaches, is unable to handle that loss to its security, so it experiences the corresponding shock, sorrow, as well as the need to express emotion in a way that completely covers up the self-centered internal conditions that are controlling the whole grief reaction? Do you see insecurity as a powerful energy provider that manifests itself in terms of a self-protective need to not look like what it is, so that it can get the ideal satisfaction it is pursuing, by hiding the true motive? Don't the good thoughts we think about the dead give us a better feeling about ourselves? And aren't those good thoughts deeply concerned with and designed to flush out insecurity with a replacement helping of security? Wouldn't the ennobling quality of the good thoughts make us feel more secure that we are doing the right thing? How much are these good thoughts of the dead conditioned into us by environmental influences and by the way each person takes their conditioning and elaborates on it? If insecurity (from loss of the dead) is too difficult to face and stay with, wouldn't we turn to remedies available that deal with that insecurity and that appeal to us and make sense to us? I'm not saying to suppress anger, but I would like to ask each of us to consider the possible unintended negative consequences of using anger as a means to express or voice our responses---isn't there a better alternative that is much more effective?---couldn't we go into this matter by sharing in a dialogue that is truly intent on exploring together as a group the underlying factors that go into grief, loss, our reactions to death?---couldn't we move into a real desire to not want to upset the person who may have upset us, thus minimizing the potential for escalating distortions, projections, fractional factional frictions? we see how republicans bond with each other in loyal partisan resistance and how the democrats do the same in the house and senate---couldn't we step out of that absurdity? there is already enough conflict in just having a different point of view, isn't there? so can we talk these things out with a genuinely courteous consideration for the other person's view? not just here, but in all topics? i thought i'd attempt to keep fresh some well-meaning preventive measures for us to proceed with, just for in case there is something constructive in that itself....while also hoping this doesn't provoke or incite a kind of reverse-psychology backlash of who knows what proportions....

been to a few funerals. first being an old boyfriend's grandmother's funeral. Sophie. I really liked this old woman but it didn't seem right to cry because she had been dying of cancer for years and really wanted to stop hurting. Brian cried. But only because he missed her not because he begrudged her and end to her suffering in that dilapidated old body. I cried at my Aunt Lenora's funeral. I cried because I would miss her and all her Italian swearing (and cooking) but you know what... that trip to her funeral (in Ohio) was the first time my whole family had been on a 'vacation' together in a long time. We all got along and I got to meet a bazillion relatives I'd never met before. And hear about Italy. several years later (after the funeral)I broke into tears for no apparent (to anyone else) reason. I missed her again. If the funeral is the 'first step' in a grieving process... well, the process just seems to take a really long time. Where is the process supposed to end anyway. It's not like all of a sudden that proverbial place in your heart will be all full and that person will (for all intents and purposes) be absent from your thoughts forever...

I don't think it ever really ends. The only big loss I have ever suffered, was with my grandpa. We used to spend wonderful months on end on the farm when things were shitty at my parents' house, and it made all the difference in the world to all three our lives, I think. Then he died when Sonja and I were fifteen, and Douw was nine. It was more or less the end of our 'world' - the secure and comfortable, happy part of our world anyway. So in a way you are right, I think, Jim. But I think we grief for alot more than just the loss of the security, the loss of someone upon whose love you were dependent for so long. It is a grief that changes, but never truly wears off, and although it may at first appear to someone who analyses these things as carefully as you do (and this is the first time I have ever really thought about grief in such 'deep' terms, I have to admit). At first the brutality with which the sorrow and sense of loss hits you is so strong that the dead person almost dissappears - or that is how I felt at the time anyway. All you can think of is, what now, where to, how will you continue living with this big chunk of security ripped out of your existence? Like being hit by a freight train - you lie there, broken to bits, you scream inwardly with pain, but you're too hurt to cry out, and yet you are unbearably alive. And yet it is also unreal. Then comes the funeral. You see the box, and suddenly the person is back. You think of his body lying in there, still, a body that used to gather you up in working arms, a body that pressed against yours when you were afraid, a body with hands that once stroked your hair and fingers that used to touch your cheek in passing. And you think of how this same body is going to be eaten away by worms. You know it is irrational, but you can't help it. But that's when you realize it isn't a dream, it is for real, you have no choice but to carry on. And it stays real for as long as you live. It changes, but the fact of it remains unfadingly. The grieving for the person, I think comes only years after when the storms have settled, and calm set in. Then you start missing without thinking of yourself. You don't need that person anymore, you cannot even imagine your life with him in it anymore, you are at peace with the fact of his death, yet even little things make you remember the person. Sometimes they make you smile, sometimes you cry. And I think that it is through this kind of 'missing' that we honour the memory of them, not that of the first years. I'm probably just rambling again over things that only affect me. I apologize.

no, don't apologize. i agree that at first it's a selfish kind of grieving. why didn't i do this, or that. when my grandpa died (actually just a few years ago), i cried a bit. but mainly because i was sorry i didn't write to him more often. i cried because he wouldn't get to see his birthday that year. but over the years i think that he's somewhere watching everything. i don't know where souls go to wait (i'm not catholic, but i imagine it may be a place like pergutory). but i like to think they're around us anyway, and i don't think it's so much for me, but for them too. (i didn't know my grandpa very well, but loved him the same). but my oma and opa. i have a recent photo of them and it hurts me so much to see them change. for some reason, i feel very close to them (maybe because as a child, i was in Germany off and on and visited with them quite frequently). some of it is selfish, most of it is selfish. i love them so much. i don't think anyone should rush the grieving process. everyone has their own way of dealing with it. don't question why you still cry, stacey, at least you know that they are not lost to you....maybe i'm strange but i grieve before someone dies. thinking about people close to me passing on, makes me cry.