The Death Club

I have slowly discovered since my beautiful Mom's death, that well, death isn't a fun conversation piece. Who would have thought? What I've learned is that people are pretty afraid of the word death, and people just don't know how to react when I tell them that my best friend and mother died too young at 61, unexpectedly...

My favorite thing to do now is take note of everyone's response when I tell them about the tragic circumstances surrounding her death. I only tell them when asked. If a person has food in their mouth, they will sort of choke, or if they are taking a sip of some expensive cocktail they will quickly spit it up in their mouth and grab an embroidered cocktail napkin. They will then switch to the topic of the weather.

It's become apparent to me that people simply can't be bothered with real life events.

What has happened to our humanity? It's almost as if not talking about death won't make it real when in fact, I think NOT talking about it makes it more real, sort of like the elephant in the room.

It's as if some of us are somehow going to escape death. If you know how you're going to escape death, let me know. I would love to hear your technique.

Why does the topic of death have to viewed as morbid? In some cultures, when a person dies they have a celebration and when someone is born they actually...cry. This makes perfect sense to me because you're taking an infinite soul and cramming it into a body with too many limitations to list.

How do we know what it's like on the other side? How do we NOT know that it's totally amazing, totally better and more fun with lots of parties and dancing and beer and everyone is naked?

Now that I have been touched by death, watching my Mom take her last breath, I feel like I've been officially initiated into The Death Club.

The Death Club is sort of like this secret underground society where we're all sort of dragging our feet and scratching our heads, wondering what the hell happened to us. I like to refer to the periods of my life now as BD (before death) and AD (after death). The things that I would have done BD seem to be completely different than the things I do AD.

When I'm in a reminiscent mood and look back at pictures of myself a year ago, I see a frivolous light in my eyes. Now, I don't see that light as much, and it's almost as if missing my Mom has become transparent. I can't hide it anymore.

Lately it seems rare that I meet people in The Death Club (or if they are, they haven't completed their membership form yet and they're in complete denial about death). There is a subtle energy behind someone's eyes when I talk to them about death, a great barometer of where that person is within themselves.

When they dismiss it and quickly change the subject, it's obvious to me that they're petrified of this thing called death. They are also the kind of people that wouldn't wear white after labor day, gasp! I think white should be worn year round and why not wear white to funerals as well?

I wish there was a way to get kicked out of The Death Club. What if I wrote a tell-all book about the inside workings of death, an expose on the Grim Reaper? Would that get me kicked out? I wish I could just click "unsubscribe" like to those horrific junk e-mails.

It looks like I'm stuck in The Death Club for the rest of my life. I'm hoping someone will come sit inside The Club with me and have a few cocktails. Maybe I should start charging a ridiculous cover fee to get into The Death Club? As much as I say I would like to get kicked out, there is more richness, depth and color to my life that I didn't have BD. I think I can see things more clearly with The Death Club glasses and I'm shielded from shallowness... So, can you believe this beautiful weather?