Death

A procession of family and friends walks past my office. They are accompanying the dead body of their deceased loved one. A young girl who had AIDS. I instantly snap out of it. You see, in my previous life I used to get a weekly wake up call. I would volunteer at Ele's Place where kids would go to support groups to grieve over people who have died. (Great nonprofit! Check it out in the Lansing and Ann Arbor areas!) It was my time to refocus, to realize all the small things that we make into big things. Life and death is a big thing. Losing a daughter, a sister, a friend is a big thing. Losing your patience over people staring is a small thing.

I have always been sad about how Americans are conditioned to think about death. While we can't get enough of crime and murder shows on TV and hearing all the gory details on the news every day, we are scared of the real thing. Hollywood version versus life that includes you and me and your circle of existence. I realize I'm generalizing but I feel as a culture we are taught to view death a certain way. We are frightened. We run. We try to cheat death and are frustrated when aging happens. When people reach a certain age they get shoved to the side by mainstream. Lock em up in a nursing home and no one goes to visit. We find the tubes and the memory loss disgusting. All of a sudden seeing a generation as valueless is truly disgusting.

I can't call Rwandans' relationship with death good or bad, just very different. Living through a genocide will obviously do quite a toll on your perspective of life and death. I have seen people react as if death is something completely out of their control, in a sort of stressless way. There is no blame, no crying out. Just this quiet procession I witness. Walking slowly in a loose herd. My sight clings to the mother who is grasping her husband's arm as if it's her life raft. One more life to be grieved over. Death could not be cheated this time.