That Got Dark, Fast

Dearest Orchid,

Fair warning: moments of graphic description and bleak outlook ahead.

The past 5+ weeks have taken on a distinct theme: things feel like they couldn’t possibly get any worse, and then…they do. At this particular moment, I am referring to the horrifying news and images coming out of Bucha, a city in the Kyiv Oblast of Ukraine.

This Is The Graphic Bit

Reader, you have to see it to believe it, but if you’re just perusing our writing and not taking in the news, then here it is — Ukrainian forces and reporters have entered Bucha following the city’s month-long occupation by invading Russian troops. What they found: Ukrainian civilians lying dead in the streets, some with their hands bound behind their backs, killed by Russian soldiers. Murdered via gunshot to the back of the head, execution-style.

If you’re not paying attention, I urge you to seek out reputable news sources and follow what’s going on. We cannot close our eyes to this. If you feel able to do only one thing, I ask you to stay informed.

This Is Where It Gets Bleak

So what is there to say about anything? How do you continue going about your day-to-day, knowing this is happening in the place you’re from? Every day this continues, the connection to Ukraine feels stronger, and therefore more excruciating. Thoughts center on every place you’ll never see again. Every person you’ll never chance a meeting with. Every kid whose childhood is destroyed, snuffed out. Every human whose loss you feel in the pit of your stomach, in the squeezing of your diaphragm, in the air forced out of your lungs by the sheer loss of it all.

So, Death. As appropriate a topic as any. These thoughts are mostly unrelated to the war in Ukraine. They’re just ideas I’ve held for a while.

You’re Dead, Now What?

What happens when you die, within your awareness? Fade to black, baby. Here today, gone tomorrow. Full stop. You feel nothing, you know nothing. Nothing matters anymore. Perhaps there’s peace in that, but you won’t know it, because your consciousness has been extinguished.

In that sense, you feel the loss of you the least. Those who feel it most are the ones left behind. Who feel your absence in every moment you’re missing from, every instance they think to call you and have to remember that you’re gone. Every morning when they stir from the dream of seeing you again and recall that you are, in fact, no longer here. Every instance of love felt for you that now lacks a vessel to carry it.

The funeral is for these people, as is the grave with the headstone — a place to come to because there’s no longer a person to come to. All of the ceremonies and rituals that happen after you die are for those left behind.

And how much harder is it when you’re gone before your time? Once again, your awareness ceases to be, yet all the hopes and imaginings for a future built upon your existence are still here, with nowhere to go. Frozen in feeling and never to see the light of day.

A Sort-Of Afterlife

Depending on how you lived, you may have earned a sort-of afterlife. One that you won’t experience. Rather, it’s your imprint on the world, and on those who outlive you. It’s your legacy. Maybe you leave behind tangible works for others to recognize you by — scientific discoveries you made, writings you penned, or films you created. Perhaps you leave behind something more abstract — how you made others feel, or the good deeds you bestowed without looking for anything in return.

Or, if you’re a different type of human, your legacy will be less positive, though no less present. Our current events give us an excellent example, but don’t take my word for it — take a gander for yourself. The link is tuned to the exact moment I’m referring to, for your viewing pleasure, where at minute 17, Julia Ioffe discusses Putin’s likely concerns with the legacy he’ll leave when he’s gone. (And really, the whole interview is worth your time.) As you might imagine, his idea of a worthwhile impact is substantially more monstrous and horrid, and it’ll stain him forever. But he can rest assured, ain’t nobody gonna forget.

Love,

Aster

P.S. To lighten the mood, let’s talk about something less heavy and more pedestrian. What are some of your pet peeves, and what do they say about you? Do you always find these things annoying, or does it depend on the person, time, and/or place? Have they developed over time, or are they constant?

I get salty when words get misused. You know, saying “literally” when you mean “figuratively,” and so on. That’s the demanding perfectionist in me. And on this topic, I’ve gotten only more exacting with age.

[Currently listening to: “Pulaski at Night” by Andrew Bird. I find it melodic and serene. And it’s about Chicago.]