That Was a First (and Not a Last)

Something that happened to me that has never happened to me before:

I receieved a death announcement and a birth announcement in the mail today. Oh, and a cable bill.

Weird.

Add to that this other related "fun" fact: I got a completely separate set of news in the form of an impending death announcement on email ("She was moved to hospice...") and a pregnancy announcement via text (Guess who's having another baby?!) on Tuesday.

Weirder?

But it shouldn't be weird. It happens everyday. People being born and people dying. But yet, it seems weird and always comes as a surprise. And the death part is always terrible and so painful. Perhaps nowadays death is considered so taboo because life is more sanitized and we're sheltered from the idea of the croaking. People generally live longer, healthier lives. We don't live on farms and slaughter our own food. We have state-of-the-art embalming and wakes in funeral homes (as opposed to stinkin' up the family parlor for a few days in a simple pine box. No shit red pungent roses became a popular funeral accessory, man). And sure, our country is at war, and people are constantly dying prematurely, but we have an administration trying like hell to cover up the badness. [Newsflash, retards: We're not retards].

But perhaps it's human nature for us to push death to the back burner most of the time, otherwise, how would we live? Ten years ago, I almost bit the dust tumbling down a hill ass-over-teakettle on a four-wheelie which had flipped. And we weren't even drunk. I was on the back rack on a pillow, my cousin on the seat, and her husband in front of her at the wheel, when suddenly the power cut out as we were putting up a 9o degree angle. I remember thinking to myself (during a violent series of somersaults with my chin twisted unnaturally under my neck), "Wow. I can't believe I'm gonna go like this. This is so embarrassing. Shit. Ah, well. Lame. But what can I do? Other than AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhh...." As it turns out, I didn't go that way, but survived the "outsid-ent" (as opposed to an "incident"--it did happen outside, afterall) with a bone bruise on my shin the size of an Easter ham. It was decorated with a lovely set of treadmarks where the machine had rolled over it at high speed before crashing into a tree. I still have a dent in my leg. Oh, memories. 'Member 'em?

What I'm trying to say, people, is...I have no freakin' idea. The way I see it, suddenly you're born, you move around for awhile, then you die. You die either young, old, or somewhere in between. And your death is either peaceful, violent, or none of the above. If you had a good life, then that's good and you're lucky, and if it was bad, then that's too bad and that sucks. And if your life was bad, that doesn't necessarily make you a bad person, and if your life was good, it doesn't necessarily mean that you were a good person. Essentially, while you're here, you're really only killing time. Might was well laugh about it, so surround yourselves with the funny.

Got it?

Great.

My peep Eric Lewis sums up death pretty nicely I think in this delightful cartoon featured in The New Yorker.

And with that, I'm going to resume my Throw Away Nine Things a Day project so that I don't die with a lot of crap. That's a big burden for the family, people, have some consideration so they don't have to make too many trips to the dump with your closets full of QVC skincare products and your insane friggin' Hummel collection.