I've just be notified that my piano teacher Mme. McElroy is terminally ill with cancer. Her farewell party is on Thursday and I am invited to attend.
I feel so ill because when she dies, she'll be the first person that I know to die while I am mature enough to understand the full gravity of death. Sure, my cousins' dad died when I was little. I didn't remember him. I didn't know how sad my cousins were. Then in 7th grade, a distant relative died, leaving behind a wife and two teenage children. He was my dad's employer, but I still didn't understand. She'll be the first one.
Sometime I still think the rest of you don't exist. That I am the only conscious mind among those around me. That events on the other side of the world don't exist. Heck, the other side of the world doesn't exist. All these things are like dreams, programmed to make sure everything is believable. How do I know that places don't unravel when I leave only to pop back up when I return? I don't know that.
But now I do know that everyone else also has a conscious mind within that skull of theirs, that they're not merely robots or stock characters. Their deaths are important; it affects the lives of those who were close to the deceased.
It is a depressing topic. I don't like to think of depressing things, but I'd like to type it down here so I remember her. It is the least I can do since I don't practice nearly enough.
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