Thursday, October 16, 2008


He's dead. He's my grandfather and he's dead. There's no point to talk about his life, he did it all. The good, the bad and the ugly. And now he's gone. But it doesn't end here. How horrendous can death get? Once you get that phone call, do you think you can sit and grieve? what about the paperwork? the cemetary plot? the church? the body? What do you do with the body? It's at home, you can smell the stench, you need to move it to the morgue waiting for the family to proceed with the funeral. He's dead. He's a body. Nothing more. When you forget about your own grievance and torment what stays is a mere carcass. That person that you had your own opinion about, that you interacted with is now an insignificant entity. You need to dress it, move it, parade it and bury it never to see it again. It's final, you erase that little incident and then you just keep the good memories, because then again what's the point in remembering the bad and the ugly?