Death comes to us all

I hate death. I don't know if it's because it scares me and I don't want to die, though I don't know that I have that fear, but whenever people are sick and dying it just hits me really hard.

When my grandpas died, I was a mess. During both of the funerals I cried more than my grandmothers, or my parents. I cried through the whole thing. I got super wasted after both of them, and tried to drink away all the feelings. And now, Ms. Grace is really sick. She's just my neighbor, but it's still really bugging me. She's so spunky and full of life! I just can't imagine her being sick enough to actually die. She is in the hospital now, and covered in bruises from the blood thinner and a fall she had. She's got cancer that's everywhere, even in her brain. My upstairs neighbor, the paramedic, read her chart and said it really doesn't look good. I just can't imagine.

It may have all started with my first funeral. I was obsessed with death as a kid, and even wanted to be a forensic pathologist. I thought all that stuff was so cool, and would dissect anything I could find. I would bring dead roadkill home and ask my parents if I could dissect it, and they always made me throw it away.

Anyway, when I was around 13, my friends' mom died of cancer. We went to the wake, and she was all dressed up in makeup (which she never wore) and had on a weird wig (which was so unlike her hair). She just didn't look like herself, and it hit me: I know this woman. I loved this woman. She took care of me. And now she's no longer here. And I cried. And I almost vomited in the parking lot (actually, I may have). And I cried.

Death of my loved ones is not my friend. I was still able to go on dissecting things I had no personal relationship to, but I think even if my dog died I wouldn't be able to look. I'm just not good with death.