Thinking about death...

I sometimes feel like I am obsessed with it....I think about losing my loved ones often. I read the obituaries daily. I have an updated "before I die, I wanna...." list. I'm an ambulance chaser -- I am the gawker at accidents. I find it fascinating to work on the cadavers in school -- always wanting to know how they died. Beyond the obligatory thing that comes along with being a parent (living and deceased wills -- where our children will go -- life insurance -- organ donor information) I've actually discussed my funeral with some of my loved ones....I want everyone who ever knew me to come and celebrate my life...the music...people talking....and the tears....Lord, there better be a lot of tears. :-)

I do think that it is just part of my personality. I love...and I love hard. It explains a lot about me. Part of loving so deeply often is losing -- and hurting. It's one of those strange dichotomies in life. To love is to hurt and also to rejoice. Ok, so I get it.

I've had several death experiences in my life -- an uncle, an aunt, all of my grandparents, most of Joel's. There were several people who died in high school too....none that rocked me as much as my friend Aaron's though.



Aaron was new to AHS -- he was a year older than I was. He sat in front of me in Speech and Debate and we became fast friends. We would talk for HOURS on the phone. He had a hard life. He was only 16, yet he had already been in rehab and was clean and sober. He was so good to me and for me. He helped open my eyes to some toxic relationships and just truly made me feel like a better person for having him as my friend. We did fun things together-- things kids in high school should be doing, like bowling, miniature golf, movies, and hiking the mountain.

That damn mountain.

We had all decided to go hiking one day. My parents were out of town and my ex boyfriend had come over. When Aaron and Mike came over to pick me up (and show me his new haircut), I told them I just couldn't go. With a quick peck on the cheek and an "I'll call you later" ...he was gone.

I never saw him again.

It's been 15 and a half years.....and I still think about him. I still wish him a happy birthday (that just passed) and wonder about him on the day of his death (which ironically -- or not -- is also the same date that Joel and I started dating in 1994) I wonder about his family -- his parents, especially his mom who was so great to me. I wonder about his little brother and sister. Does she even really remember him? I admit to going to the cemetery still...whenever I get the chance. I don't know what I like so much about the cemetery... It's quiet. I'm not judged. I pray. I read his headstone....and tell him about my life. My husband, my kids. I thank him for keeping us safe and I ask him (as if he were some divine power) to help me make the right (albeit difficult) decisions. He still does that for me.

weird? Perhaps.

But to know me is to love me....