I know this in my head and sometimes in my heart too, but usually, I wander through my life without even thinking about it.
Until something, or someone-dies.
Nothing is really funny about death. But it IS funny to me that this post is inspired by a spider. A little, hairy wood spider that I found dead under my radiator.
A spider that I would have killed by spraying it with hairspray or crushing it with a slipper. And yet. It died on its own, under the warmth and security of my radiator, in the little blue room at the back of the house.
I wonder if he got to say goodbye. I sometimes do wonder if other living things of the non-mammal variety have relationships, form bonds, and miss each other when they are gone. If so, I hope he got to say goodbye.
I've been fortunate in my life, that I've seen much more laughter than tears, and that though I've seen too many tears, I always remember the laughter.
And once, during a time when I should have been crying, I was uncontrollably laughing.
In college, one of my classmates was killed in a car accident over summer break. She was the girlfriend of a friend, and whenever we'd hang out, Amy was there too. In that weird college student way of meeting people, she became part of our "group".
5 of my closest friends and I piled into the heavily tattooed red VW station wagon and made our way deep into Massachusetts. Though we were traveling to a somber location, we were jovial, and laughed harder than we'd ever laugh together again.
Nerves? Maybe. We were young, going to the funeral of a friend of ours-someone our own age who had become part of our own story. And instead of planning her sophomore year, she was laying in a box, cold and pale, sleeping peacefully forever.
But I do not think it was nerves that caused our hysteria. Instead, I think it was awareness. Awareness that at that very moment, our car could be hit, just as Amy's was, and we could be gone just as quickly as we had come.
We were aware of our youth-of the fact that faster than we would like to admit, we would be attending the funerals of people we "once knew" and our children would be the ones driving in the car, laughing on the way.
Yes, I think we were more aware of our own mortality that year. And, in turn, we chose to laugh.
Because there was nothing else we could do.
Originally written by me on Friday, June 22, 2007.