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Wednesday, March 14, 2007

For the Curious

We found out that it was a heroin overdose. No one knows whether it was intentional or not. I feel sorriest for his former roommate, a French guy who moved out at the beginning of this term because of “differences.” Apparently he was a pretty antisocial guy: treated the people on his floor rudely, didn’t wash his dishes, that sort of thing. I talked to a German girl on the bus this morning who lived on his floor, and she said he must have been pretty lonely, but always looked perfectly healthy, no like a junkie at all. Appearances can be deceiving.

Death is such a strange thing. I have seen so much of it, yet I have felt far more affected by the living than by the dead. Even when my old dance teacher Jean died, I only cried a little when her daughter (and my more immediate dance instructor) Darcy told me that she had read and enjoyed the letters I sent everyone from college. I wasn’t crying over her death; I was crying over the fact that I had actually impacted her life, and someone else knew about it. I can cry for people I love who are living, but somehow, I cannot cry for them once they are dead. Or perhaps the most important people to me just have not died yet. Maybe I am that lucky.

3 comments:

Julie said...

A very well written and thought provoking second paragraph. Kudos.

Kelly said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Kelly said...

Or perhaps the most important people to me just have not died yet. Maybe I am that lucky.

I agree. I don't understand how depressed people become when others die. But maybe I am lucky as well and just haven't had the same experiences with death.