Into the West

I'm not going to be overly eloquent or profound today. A friend of mine died last night. She was my mother's best friend. She was a frequent babysitter when I was young, and more than a small part of my childhood. We've kept in touch. Some time ago she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She fought it like a woman possessed, but there was no way to beat it.

This is becoming all-too-common a theme for me lately. Prominent figures from my childhood are passing on. Just over a year ago it was my grandmother. She was a woman of great faith, and I envied her the peace she felt as she passed. Does it matter whether she's in God's arms or oblivion, now? Her faith brought her peace and hope. My grandmother was born in Oslo, Norway. She had the strength of a viking, and lived a productive ninety-eight years. Now she's gone. This is natural, not a tragedy.

So if it's so natural, why did nature give us grief? What evolutionary purpose does mourning serve? Because, fuck you, natural selection. Fuck you for putting eternity in our hearts and then giving us only a few short decades. It's a good thing I don't believe in a God, because were She responsible for such things, I'd have similar words for Her.