The fictive death is celebrated, promotionally presented, voyeuristically exploited in films, books, news.
My little one (almost 9 years old) is thinking about death. Recently he wanted to discuss with me where he would be if I were to die. I did dare to tell him that it would not be my own decision, even if I would write it in my last will. The decision would be with the KESB (welfare office). I think this is it. We don’t fear so much not being there but the pain and loss of control. The thought that my little one would not grow up with one of his older sisters but in a children’s home (no matter how good and pedagogically valuable), makes me shiver and afraid. I cannot die bevor he can stand on his own feet (AS IF I WERE TO DECIDE, when I will die!!!).
In the past I thought that it becomes easier to deal with one’s own death once one gets older. Finally one knows that the final station is approaching, where all but really all have to exit. But it’s not like that. I only realised with the time that the older ones don’t handle death any easier. I have seen people who wanted to die in order to be released from pain and disappointment. But I saw more of those, who fought for every day in this world despite serious illnesses and pains.
Thirty years ago I saw my grandmother when she was dying. Nobody had told me, nobody had prepared me for what was to come and I myself did not realise that the time had come. My very much beloved grandmother!!
They prevented that I saw her dying. I was told that I should to keep her in my mind as she had been during her lifetime, and I yielded, since I expected something terrible. That way I could not really say goodbye. I could not stroke her hand, give her a kiss and tell her how much I loved her. Even 30 years later she is part of my life and accompanies me. Big love cannot be extinguished by death. A wonderful thought.
I also can remember another death many, many years ago. One of the boys in the village had come with an air gun and shot at everything that moved in the grass. No one of us believed that he would hit anything. But he hit. I little rabbit directly into the stomach. Even today after so many years I can feel my anger and despair from back then. The little warm body in a pool of blood and the fast breathing. I shouted to the boys that they should fetch a bandage. I was holding the little rabbit in my hands and was crying about my own helplessness. He was beyond help. His bowels swelled out of his stomach. By then the boys had arrived with the bandage. It crossed my mind that it would be better to kill this little being fast but I could not. Instead I bound his bowels back into his stomach. Blood soaked the bandage and shortly afterwards he died. How old had I been then? Perhaps 10. But the feeling of helplessness from then I can still remember.
Every now and then one comes across a book which makes one think. To me this happened with the book “Terminal” by Mike Powelz. In case you are not afraid of dealing with death and are looking for a very exciting and authentic book, this book is the best reading.
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