When Did Death First Make Sense to You?
When was the first time you really understood the idea of death? I think I was about seven. My grandfather had just died and everyone around me was speaking in this soft, careful tone, as though if they were too loud, he might come back and complain about the noise. I remember feeling confused — not just about the loss, but about the strange choreography that comes with it. People whispering. Adults saying “he’s gone” without giving any forwarding address. It wasn’t until I was about eleven — give or take, because my memory has the consistency of a leaky sieve — that I truly began to grasp what death meant. And then… I forgot. Not forgot like I forgot death exists (that would be a talent), but forgot the emotional weight of it. Life has a way of tucking certain lessons into the attic until they randomly tumble back down onto your head. And lately, death’s been back in my thoughts, tapping me on the shoulder like, “Hey, remember me?” Here’s the thing: I don’t think the concept of a...