My reaction to the news of Bin Laden's death

I cannot celebrate death. It just seems wrong to me.

I cringed at the sight of parties in the streets, but at the same time, I understood them.

I understand the psychological impact on Americans, and their allies, at his death.

But it's still death.

I did find some satisfaction in watching video of a fire truck in New York City pull up to a crowd of revellers. I watched as the firefighters climbed atop the truck, taking pictures of the crowds. They seemed happy, although definitely not in the same rambunctious manner as those below them. People gave them high-fives, they waved.

But mostly, it seemed, they just took it all in. Watched.

I think I get it.

See, they lost 343 brothers on 9/11.

Bin Laden was the self-proclaimed mastermind behind those deaths.

There is some reconciliation in knowing he is gone, but I imagine it is difficult to be rambunctiously joyous in the face of something that reminds them of the 343.

343.

I find that not many people know that number. Not the way the fire family does.

I was not a fire wife in 2001. Not only had I not met FireMan yet, he wasn't a firefighter yet. Not in 2001.

I can only imagine what I would have felt had the now "us" been around back then.

I read today that the news of Bin Laden's death is actually triggering PTSD-type flashbacks among survivors of 9/11.

I can only imagine.

And so I met the news in a kind of emotionless way. I took it in. I watched as others revelled.

And although I can rejoice in the delivering of an enemy into our hands, I cannot rejoice in a soul that has been lost forever.

There has been too much death. Yes, maybe I'm in a different frame of mind because of my friend. But reflecting on what started this to begin with... thousands of innocents killed. 343 firefighters never to return home. Soldiers dying overseas.

There has been too much death already. One more, whomever it may be... well, I just cannot celebrate death.

Focus on the amazing

I've been thinking a lot since last week. A lot.
Some might say my thoughts are morbid.
I suppose "morbid" is the word. Although I don't feel that it's so.

It makes me think of my own death mostly. What preparations maybe I should make now. What can I do to ease the burden for my family.

See, I came to terms with my mortality when I was a teenager. I began planning my funeral / memorial service when I was 15 (as if I have a say), and although some things have evolved, it's still basically the same.

While other people's deaths can shake me to the core, my own... I am at peace with.

No, not in a oh-my-goodness-call-the-suicide-watch kinda way. Not at all.

In the way of I've-accepted-that-as-part-of-life-I-will-die. Someday.

See, when I was 15, my grandma died. Ten days later my uncle died.

It was a difficult summer.

And that's when I began planning. I think in a way it's a coping mechanism for me. A way to take my mind off of the sad, off of the loss, and to focus on more practical things, things related to what happened, but that I have some control over. Or pretend that I do.

As a teenager, and even into my early 20's, I had my plans all mapped out, written down on notebook paper that had crinkled over the years.

Where I wanted the service to take place, what quotes I wanted read, what music I wanted played.

That all has changed, but one thing has remained.

I know it's not my decision, and as my mom has pointed out, memorials are for those left behind, not those who have passed - but... I hope the focus is on my life, and not my death.

I have led, by my own judgement, an amazing life. Trials? Sure. Heartache? Absolutely. But wonderful, awe-inspiring moments? You better freakin' believe it.

I hope amidst what sadness is there, there is greater joy in a life that was lived fully. I want happy music played, my favorite songs sung, trumpets must be blaring a rich melody somewhere.

No boring quiet service, please, full of folks in their Sunday best whispering condolences. I am not (in my opinion) leading a boring, quiet life.

Wear what you wear. Be who you are. I certainly will be being who I am, right?

Tell funny stories, laugh, and smile, and sing. Yes... a music-lover should have singing there, right?

I think I would prefer to be cremated, though this thought horrifies my mother. Just seems like a coffin buried in the ground is such a waste to hold a now empty shell.

But my mother is right, it's not for me, it's for those left behind to mourn, right?

Which leads to a greater (than me) idea:

What if, instead of all the tradition that encompasses our rites of mourning, what if we started mourning in ways that celebrated the person that has passed?

I don't know, but somehow I think this might just ease our mourning, make the passing a little easier on those left behind to know that they paid their final respects in a way that their loved one would have appreciated.

So much of what we do is decided by tradition, instead of being defined by who we are.

Yes, there is a place for tradition, I love tradition in its time & place, and have been called by some, very "traditional". And if tradition & rites are your thing, then by all means, have that be your thing.

I don't know. I guess in some ways it just seems like an injustice to those who have passed to ignore the amazing life they lived and fill it with plain flowers, and dressy clothes, and whispered words.

Because we all live amazing lives in some way, right?

This is kind of rambling, I know. Just some of my thoughts that have been bouncing around in my head.

Mostly, to stop focusing on that one moment, on that moment of death, and start focusing on the amazing life that preceded that one final moment.

Yes, focus on the amazing, on the good, awe-inspiring, beautiful life that was.

Focus on the amazing.

My friend? He killed himself.

It sounds so harsh, doesn't it?

But it is harsh. "committed suicide" just doesn't sound right in this case.

Perhaps because it was such a violent death.

I will not go into details, for privacy's sake, but the method he chose, is an excruciating, painful manner of death. Perhaps one of the worst ways to die I can think of.

And it was not quick.

His attempt occurred in the middle of the night last Sunday night. He died Wednesday afternoon. His last three days being spent in the ICU.

He did it at home. I do not know what, if anything, his family saw.

I do know the first responders who responded to the 9-1-1 call (I do not know who placed the call), witnessed the entire incident, and for reasons I will not go into here, were helpless to intervene. I don't know what happened to those first responders, but honestly, I could see this as one of those career-ending calls. The ones that haunt you the rest of your life. The one that could make them not return to the job.

The astounding thing to me? There were no warning signs. None.

I spoke with him about 10 days prior. He was his normal, happy, jovial self. He had posted new pics of his kids on his Facebook page just a couple of days prior to that. Through the network of loved ones that has evolved since this occurred, I have been in touch with friends, family, and co-workers. All proclaim that there were no warning signs.

In the days & weeks leading up to it, he appeared to be his normal self. We have all racked our brains trying to think of anything we might have missed. It just wasn't there. No indications that anything was amiss, that he was struggling with anything at all.

And what is so devestating to me, is that whatever it was, whatever pain or struggle he was having within himself, the idea that that distress was so great that he decided that ending his life, and ending it in what he certainly knew was a most painful manner, was better than continuing on.

That thought... it is that thought that haunts me.

I hurt for him. For the internal pain he was in that led up to his decision. It breaks my heart to think of my friend struggling so.

My mind swirls with thoughts. I have thought of little else for days. I could fill volumes with what my mind is speaking.

I might write more on the matter later. But for now, this is it.

My friend died this week. My friend killed himself his self.