I don’t understand death.
I have realised there is a link between my hatred for magic. The unexplained.
Magic gets me very mad – I feel like someone is trying to dupe me, like a lie, trying to be more clever than me and make me look stupid. I don’t like it at all, that feeing.
And death makes zero sense to me. They’re there. Even if I don’t see them daily, weekly, monthly – they’re there, in my world. And like magic – that trickery – they’re gone. How do they go?
I get the physical side of things but if my glass stops working – falls over, breaks – the water is still there….
I remember my nanny and poppy dying and I just thought they were some place else and I’d see them soon. Not like ‘heaven’ – literally living somewhere else. I was 6 I think, when poppy died and 12 or 13 when nanny died. I still believed they were not too far away. I missed them – I even cried for nanny but I believed I would see them again.
I remember thinking it was discipline than I couldn’t see poppy anymore – I must’ve been bad and he was now out of my reach.
In a way I like this belief but adulthood brings knowledge – although death remains an inconceivable thing to me.
Arthur Wardle (1864-1949)
A comforting Friend in her Moment of Grief