When you're gone

Why do we care about people after they’re dead?

In both the literal and social aspects?

I have people in my family who have passed away, and I also have former friends who are dead to me. Frankly, it's ridiculous to dwell on people that you can no longer dwell among (save for a shovel pointed at the dirt or a gunman in attendance.) There is no more companionship to be gained, only the soft despair radiating from that part of your soul they used to visit.

Of course, this is not some slam journalism on how stupid the bereaved, orphaned or widowed are; I’m not a monster, I have emotions equally as fallible as every other poor bastard to walk this godless green earth.

I care... I wish I didn’t... but I do.

And it's really annoying to think about friends dearly departed from social grace because I have no desire to see them again. Two people who know exactly how fucked they’ve been to each other shouldn’t meet out of the bounds of a WWE arena anyway. But I still think about them, about those times when we could kick the shit out of each other with Nerf swords or take walks through the woods at night.

Paradoxically, sometimes, I care about someone more after they’ve left my life. It's something about the finality of that relationship, the inability to meet again with that person, that turns the little remnants of their presence into such a potent force.

When the late, great, Robin Williams lost to his battle with depression, I was unaware of anything past his most popular works. It was only after he was gone that I became drawn to his body of work; Mork and Mindy, the unhinged cocaine-fueled comedy about an alien who sits on his head; One Hour Photo, the tense exploration of a man without family (somehow related to Neon Genisis Evangelion;) and yes his comedy specials, specifically “weapons of self-destruction.” When the news broke about his death I was sad, the Genie from Aladin had taken his own life. However, by the time the month was out, I was devastated at the loss of a great man.

But why am I talking about Mr. Williams? Why not talk about those lost friends or departed relatives? Why? Because it is desperately hard to admit, that you didn’t spend enough time with people who’ve died.

Each of my Grandparents had so much more to share, more experience to impart, more joy to receive. They were there, always there waiting for the phone; excited to see me, to hear from the family that they had cultivated and released into the world. Of course, some of these were unavoidable, when my paternal Grandfather passed away I had hardly become conscious let alone capable of driving myself to Hamilton. That said, others feel unforgivable in retrospect. When my Maternal Grandfather passed away my first thought was “This will make Mum sad.” My goal in this exchange was to support her through his passing, but I was unable to share in her grief.

Growing up he was always just a room away, just a question from speaking; resting comfortably on the couch in an air-conditioned room. He was never out of reach, but I never reached out. Since then I’ve been to his home province, Prince Edward Island, and felt a sense of balance there I had never experienced before. I’d played cards with his cousins and walked through that same salt-kissed air of his youth.

Grandpa was there, but I couldn’t reach out.

Thankfully, with both of my Grandmothers, the story paints me in a somewhat more favourable light. I’d like to hope that I was close to each of them, but circumstance prevents me from asking them directly; and yet still, I learn more about them now than I ever did in their life. And that saddens me, to not have learned from their words. Their deaths were harder for me, a difficult thing to come to terms with. One was expected and prepared for, the other sudden; both equally devastating in their disparate ways.

And so I care.