#514

One of my friend's grandpa's sisters died. She was 85. I must say I wish I knew what to say when someone loses somebody like this. I guess it's hard because I am used to securing, for the most part, my feelings when my own family died off, deep inside in a place as cold and dark as a grave itself. You'd think by now I'd have learned what to do or say. Perhaps it's merely being so used to loss that death really isn't a surprise. Still. That isn't to say I do not feel. From time to time the ripples of my dad's suicide, for instance, come to haunt me. And the seizure before my aunt died of lung cancer. But it quickly goes away these days. I can say I feel very sorry for my dad because if there was some form of afterlife, I wonder how he'd feel to see his son just pretend like he never existed. That's how I deal with pain: bury it. Bury it in their graves. And that's why I appear to be cold (though not mean) to death. Perhaps my response of "oh" at the news of someone's end will never change...