I have been thinking about death. My uncle passed away a couple months back, and I have been thinking about death. Taking stock of the list of dead I know.
My grandma (on dad’s side) passed away when I was 13. My uncle passed away when I was 14 or 15. My granddad (on mum’s side) passed away when I was 15 or 16. My school-mate jumped to his death when I was 17. My cousin died in a road accident when I was 18. I stopped a friend from killing herself when I was 21. My good friend’s dad passed away when I was 24 or 25. A friend died when I was 27.
And these are just the ones I know, personally. There are countless other deaths of acquaintances, deaths of friends of acquaintances, deaths of family of acquaintances. And each death touches me in a different way.
We mourn for the passing of someone we once knew. We mourn for the opportunities that the dead will miss. We mourn for the children and grandchildren they will never see.
But sometimes I wonder, whether we are actually mourning for ourselves. The dead have no more consciousness of this world. And we cry because we will miss them. We grieve for the moments that we will no longer be able to share with them.
Perhaps, we feel cheated because they are dead and we are not.