joegoda: (Default)
It's an odd thing, I think, to want to die. I don't mean the heart break of a break up "I wish I was dead" sort of thing. I mean that bottom of the well and beyond, that empty soul sucking feeling where there is absolutely no other alternative than to give into the dying of the light.

I've thought about dying. I have, simply because I believe that is part and parcel of what it means to be human. I'd like to think that everyone thinks about dying, some time or other.

I don't mean people thinking about killing themselves. I hold suicide to be the most cowardly and yet, the most brave thing a person can do. It is the ultimate in running away and the ultimate of running toward, I believe. I'm pretty darn sure I wouldn't do it. I don't think I have that sort of strength or that amount of fear. I've known people who have done it, successfully, I might add. I've also known people who have done it unsuccessfully. One had this report on returning from beyond the pale. He was dead for 3 minutes and said "It was boring. There was nothing at all." Not exactly a glowing recommendation. Then again, this person tends to feel most of life is like that, so in that case, why wouldn't death be just like life. That would be, if you tend toward religiousity, an ironic hell if ever there was one. I suspect the majority of people have thought about suicide on a very down day. I likewise suspect that the majority of people decided that there were more important things to do.

No, I mean exactly this. To lay in bed, or sit on the sofa, or drive a car or eat a sandwich and to think about, to imagine, what it is to be dying. Not this long slow process which we are all going through. I mean that deterioration of tissue, that lacking of consciousness, that quick, painless exit from here to wherever there is, if there is a there. What it feels like in those last few moments when you know you are slipping away and letting go of this vestige of mortality.

Nice phrase that. The vestige of mortality. Not the 'last' vestige. Vestige itself is indicative of the 'last' of something. Merriam-Webby defines vestige as "a trace, mark, or visible sign left by something (such as an ancient city or a condition or practice) vanished or lost." So, if it's a vestige, it's pretty much already gone. Already the 'last'. So yeah. Vestige of mortality. It's an elegant thing.

I've sat, for minutes and perhaps hours at a time, thinking and pondering this. I've gotten to the point where I can feel my limbs loosen and my will slip a bit and my mind to almost, but not quite, go someplace other than this earthly plane. I've danced on the outskirts of that country where we are all illegal aliens, thumbing my nose at those on the other side.

Sounds brave and daring, doesn't it? No? It doesn't sound like that at all. It sounds like a romanticized version of what I really go though. Here's a true story. Well... as true as I remember it.

I used to walk at night in my teen years. We lived on the very edge of a neighborhood that eventually grew into another neighborhood and I would find myself walking for miles and miles, for hours, just... thinking. One night, I had an odd thought. See, I wasn't particularly happy with me. I was a teenager from a home that had... issues. I think I've already talked about them, so why belittle what you already know. So, my home life.. my away from home life, too, was pretty darn uncomfortable and while I didn't want to end it all, I sure has heck didn't want to be me.

I had this odd thought: I'd forget who I was and rebuild myself from the inside. Now, it may not have been all that zen. I may have just wanted to forget myself, without all the nobility.

There's this book "The Boy Who Could Make Himself Disappear" by Kin Platt. Highly recommended to anyone who has ever felt like leaving it all behind, digging a hole in oneself and crawling in, pulling oneself behind. Yeah... it's deep, truly. And I read it, and GOT it, when I was ... 10? Maybe. Before I came to Oklahoma (I was 11 when that happened), for sure, because I bought it at a Weekly Reader book sale at school, back in Indiana.

Same book sale I bought my brother James a Sword in the Stone sticker book, because he was very ill and was bedridden for quite a while.

All this is true to this point. All of it. Let's see how much more honest I can be with myself, shall we?

Okay... I had this crazy idea to self-induce amnesia. And yes.. that is what I called it. Self-induced amnesia. It wasn't true amnesia, it was more like partial amnesia. I only wanted to forget my identity, remove the part of me that was me, and leave just a kernel of myself. I wanted to disappear.

I was probably all of 14. I know this pretty much because it was the year that Sequoyah Junior High (remember those?) held a Sadie Hawkins day dance. First and, I believe last. Out of the entire 9th grade (I'm guessing.) I was the only boy that was not asked to go. Yeah, there may have been more, but I never met them. Therefore, ipso de facto, I was the only one.

I walked around this big batch of neighborhoods working to remove my identity. My Mantra was simple: "Who am I?" Nobody. "Where do I come from?" Nowhere. "What is my name?" I have no name. Over and over, every step of every mile until something loosened and broke and for a long minute or a long couple of minutes, I did not know who I was, where I was, what my name was or any of the issues that 'I' had.

I remember the feeling because it was glorious. I had that built in that I wouldn't completely forget everything. I didn't know where I was, but I could find my way back home. Lost, and yet, not. And for that one brief patch of time I belonged to only me, and that was freedom. For the brief eternity, I liked who I was, totally and completely because I was all I had and that was enough.

Eventually, I wandered home. It was probably 11 at night when I got there, and there was school the next day. I remembered who I was, all that I had gone through and all I had put up with and still I liked me. Just a little. Just enough. Enough to keep on going and being and thinking odd thoughts and speaking odd things.

And yes, I made it. This is as true as I remember. Which means it may be not true at all, but a false memory. I'd like to believe that it's as true as true can be, and so... I do.

I'm still living that lesson, by the way. At times, I still forget who I am. There are parts of me I do not like. There are parts of me I stand in wonder of. It's my hope that everybody has that. Everybody has a Jekyll. Everybody Has a Hyde. Or so I'd like to believe. I could be wrong.

Speaking of forgetting and mortality. Have you ever considered that one day you might forget how to wipe your butt? Forget how to tie your shoes? Button your shirt or blouse? And that, because you were embarrassed or ashamed or whatever sort of pride mechanism you have, you didn't ask for help and instead taught yourself how to do these things all over again.

I mean.. the shoes, okay. That's simple. Youtube. And I've gotten pretty good at it again. Not perfect, but close. Shirts? Pretty self explanatory. Mostly. I still have trouble with that one button at the top. I keep trying to push the button through sideways. It can be done, but it's damned frustrating.

That whole (no pun, really) wiping of the butt thing is just down right frustrating. Yes, I remember the general mechanics and I remember I had it down to almost and art form. I did break down once and asked Shannon for advice, and bless her heart... though she looked at me very oddly and I'm sure she thought I was just screwing with her head, she said "Boys go back to front, girls go front to back". Okay... I got that. Basic Biology. And I'm still not proficient at it and it takes me twice to three times as long as it did just 3 years ago.

That's a thing I've told almost nobody. It's something that makes me nervous. My uncle John, a genius in that absent minded way, died from complications of Parkinson that was helped by Alzheimer. Double whammy. Why do something half-assed. So it makes me nervous, this losing of my mind thing.

So... I think about dying. I've had my father, two brothers, mother, ex-wife, friends...etc... all die.

I sometimes catch myself thinking about Linda, the ex. I suspect she took the easy train. Pills. Morphine. And just stopped breathing because her body forgot how to. At least, I hope it was that easy for her. I don't want to think about her in more pain than she was already in. Her body had betrayed her, after decades of usage of drugs that were actually prescribed to her by medical personnel (doctors) who rarely checked to see what the interactions might be. Linda would say "That's what the pharmacist is for." I think Linda was an idiot at times, and depended far too much upon the kindness of strangers. But she died.

And I think about what she was feeling as she died. It's hard to explain, really. How you let your mind slip away, one thought at a time. How the limbs get incredibly heavy and then, so light they don't exist. How your bodily functions seem to implode upon themselves until all that's left is the quiet Lub a Dub of the last moments of your beating heart. Until that final word passes your lips, propelled by the last bit of breath you will ever experience. "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa h" I don't even know if there is a final 'h'. I think it's just "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa ".

I wonder of my dad, who died of brain cancer. What did he think about, as he felt himself going? As he lost the use of his limbs, his voice, his music... his magnificent brain? Was he angry at the end? What he happy to be getting away from my stepmother, Eydra? Er.. I'm sorry.. Edra. No love lost there. Or did he think to himself, which is just as likely as anything "Now, by God, I'll know!" My father was a spiritual man who believe strong that God must exist because why not? The Universe is too orderly, he said.

My brother, who died in a pancreatic coma from cancer, and yet, who shed a tear as I held him one last time mere minutes before aaaaaaaaaaa . Him, I miss horribly and my eyes get all leaky just thinking about it. James was a religious nut and we argued, sometimes to blows. And I miss the heck out of him.

My favorite was my mom. My last visit with her, she was only partly there. Part of her... the essential her... had already caught that ferry to where ever. I would talk to her and she would smile and nod and then she would drift back somewhere far, far away, her eyes focused on nothing here. Maybe she was looking at Gary Cooper, whom she said was her greatest love. Maybe she was looking at Dick Van Dyke, whom I suspect really was. One month later, on October 31st, she decided that she had enough and left. Why was my mom's death my favorite? Because it was time.

Second runner up was Grandpa Joe. Joe Goda. Went into the hospital because he "wasn't feeling himself", they ran some tests and were going to keep him there. He called my mom, who had moved back to Indiana to take care of her parents, and said "Betty Jo, come get me out of here." And she did. Two nights later, he got up from watching television, said Good night to his wife, Eva Peal, and my mom saying, "I'm pretty tired. I think I'll go rest." And he did. Official cause of death, I kid you not, was "Heart wore out." That was a man who lived, and why I use his name with honor.

And so, sometimes I think about it. Abut death. Sometimes I think it might be a nice thing, to walk away from this job and not have to punch that life clock in the morning. How quiet. How peaceful. As I was told "There's nothing there." Sounds pretty good to me at times. Nothing.

But only for a while. Only on my terms. Only when I want it and with the certitude I can always make the round trip without losing my luggage. Don't fly Delta unless you tag your luggage well. Just saying.

Because, see... there's that hill over there. Or that stretch of road fading into the horizon. Or that boundless ocean. Or that towering mountain. Or... or... or.... any number of new and interesting thing that haven't been searched or discovered or wondered or... or... or....

And that is why immortality. Because I'm not tired of the or... or... or.... I don't think I ever will be. And if I do all of it? Aaaallll of it, what then? Why, I have to start over, you see. Because I can't remember.
joegoda: (Default)
I am an immortal. I know this. It isn't a choice. It came from a curse something like a couple of thousand years ago that rolled up through the gene pool and landed in my lap.

See... when I was younger (yes, I was born in 1957, so this whole immortality thing is untested. One could say it's just a hypothesis at this time. Not even a theory)... any way.. when I was younger, I noticed a number of differences between my brothers and me.

Now, I had 3 brothers. 1 half brother and 2 birth brothers. However, to me, they were just brothers. Here, I feel the distinction needs to be made that my oldest brother was not a birth brother. He had the same mother but a different father. Not really sure who that father was, but mom said it was an escaped criminal, while I tend to believe it was Dick Van Dyke, who my mother knew and whom my mother had an undying hatred for. This hatred she never explained, so.... why not?

Older brother Gary can be kind of discounted. Even though I believe that thousands year old curse came from mom's side of the gene pool, I'd rather not be lumped with Gary. He was intelligent and talented and strong and good looking. Oh... and massively self destructive. He died of stupidity at the age of 50 something or other. I forget and there isn't any obituary in the entire interwebs that mentions his name and dod. Anyway.. I don't count him. Unless I should. But I don't think so. But I've been wrong. But he's dead, so not so much immortal. Unless... So.. to continue.

Brother James, the youngest. 28 months my junior. The baby of the family, who is, routinely the most frail, also passed away. He was a gentle soul, occasionally given to bouts of rage and stupidity. He was overtly religious, believing in superstition and holding it dear to his heart as if some bearded giant in the sky actually cared about his existence. It's possible. It's been said that God has a wicked sense of humor. That would be why James died at 45 from cancer of the everything. Bet whasname had a big ol' laugh over the irony of that one. I don't discount him, but if James had been bitten by the 'mortality curse, it would have been a pretty crappy life. Forever. I know he didn't want to die. He was ready for it, but he didn't want to make that trip. So, hey. Whatchagonna do?

Brother Sam. Ah, Sam was the middle of the three Mom and Dad kids. 13 months after me. 13 months before James. Sam is still going. Strong is debatable. Never the emotionally stable one, he's showing the cracks in the facade of his reality.

Last night, for example, he came to one of the parties the wife and I throw on occasion. He came, with his wife, very late. 9:45ish pm. That's when I'm starting to thing it is time to wrap up. Anyway, he lay, inebriated, on my sofa and whined about how hard it was to be an immortal, because you had to watch everyone else around you die and grow old.

Waa.

See, here's the thing. When we were young - wait - I was going to tell you about differences, right? So hold that thought "When we were young." Let's go.

Gary.. older, different dad, same mom. Tall, good looking, full head of hair, dark brown eyes, massive reader, sang like the Archangel Michael (in fact.. if angels exist..) died because his kidneys shut down after decades (not just years... DECADES) of physical abuse he had heaped on himself. His last words were probably "It wasn't my fault", because he lived in a world where someone was always against him.

James.. Youngest, dark brown hair and eyes, thin, frailish, mentally not quite as fast as the rest of the fam. Not retarded... okay... retarded in the way that retard means. Slowed down. Not a reader of literature. Not athletic, unless you count little league. That kid could hit, though. Man. Anyway. Died of pancreas failure from complications of cancer of everything.

Sam. Samuel. My best friend growing up. Diagnose manic depressive schizophrenic by folks who have a lot of letters after their name. One time Jail bird at 19. Long time Felon (nope... can't vote or get a decent job). Dark hair, dark skin, dark brown eyes, dark soul, dark life, dark, dark, dark. See the pattern? He was dark. Still is. Stole some Nebutol from a Veteran and tried to take the long sleep. Would have made it too, except he was late for work, so I went looking for him. Believes himself to be immortal and thinks that part of the requirement is that to be immortal means you care too much, so you need to not care, not feel at all. Boy, is he wrong.

Me. Cancer baby. 24th of middle of the year. Missed being the Anti Christ by ONE friggin day. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Massive reader. Survivor. Died twice (car accident and some other time I can't quite remember) and came back each time. Knows that I'm immortal and hopes it isn't true because there's too many people I would miss. Not dark, per-se. Angry, yes. Dark? No. Is a happy drunk, this one is. Remove the inhibitions and he'd buy the world a coke. Funny how one has to be drunk to be happy. Seriously, it's possible this one is the incarnation of Pan, Loki, Kokeopelli, or any other of those fun, life loving, joksterizing Mothers who are out for a good time.

And yes. I am an immortal. I tried to join immortal anonymous, but there wasn't anyone else there. Not even Sam. And speaking of that, here's there deal about that.

I believe that an immortal becomes an immortal in two and only these two ways. Keep in mind, this is my believe and I've been wrong before. Marriage taught me that.

One is through a curse. Now, a curse is just a wish your heart makes, if your heart is really dark and full of nastiness. You thought wishes were strong? When was the last time you had one of those come true? Nope.. hatred is stronger than love in the short term. Long term, love wins hands down, but for pure immediate solid wall destructive power, hatred will tear love a new one, bend it over, pretzel it up and make love pray for the end. Love cannot withstand hatred in the short term. Love can rebuild, don't get me wrong. As miracle Max said, "Sonny, true love is the greatest thing of all." And love, true love, will regenerate, survive hatred and be changed by hatred but will come back. For long distance, love has my money. But for those short sprints? Always bet on black, baby.

Number two is belief. This is a bit trickier, though no less effective. See, a curse exists long after the curser (Ha!) has cursed. It doesn't require sustained believe by the one who originally formulated the curse. It DOES require the sustained belief of the cursed. After long enough, this belief becomes part and parcel of the person, so it becomes self sustaining. It can even be passed on, like vampire or being a baptist. All that is required is belief. Strong belief. Strong as the belief that you have a right to exist. Belief so strong that it becomes a knowing, and it is that knowing that fuels the immortality.

And if another has that strength of belief, that knowing, then hey presto, whatever it is becomes passed on. Immortality or old guys in the sky... it's the same thing.

There's a catch to both methods. IF the curse is recalled by the originator of the curse, then the curse is broken. Belief, see? Knowing the curse is broken breaks the curse. But it is the originator who has to know, not the one cursed. Why? Because the cursed one knows that they are cursed. They can't unknow a curse. You can't unmake a baby. Or a cake, if you'd rather. Cakes are cuter than babies.

Same thing with method number two. For some reason that requires understanding of Quantum Entanglement, if the originally immortal, who knows he is immortal and has bestowed that immortality upon another creature (what, you thought this only applied to humans? Bigot) who also carries that knowledge around - if the original decides to withdraw that knowledge, then the recipient is on their own. The original sustains the recipient and without the original belief, the recipient cannot sustain, because the recipient has bought into the originator's reality and Quantum Entanglement ensues, with dog and cats living together, mass hysteria. My love is your love is my love, blah, blah, blah.

So, since Sam was my closest friend (and yes, my brother) when I figured out I was an immortal, I told him what I figured out and made him immortal too. By the way, it was a stupid thing to do. Unstable people should never, ever become immortal. It's just sad. Friends don't let friends immortal.

I only made that mistake one other time. This was out of love, and that's when I figured out the rule about the Quantum Entanglement of Intentions.

Okay.. that was a lot of words. Let me catch my breath.

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joegoda

June 2022

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