Right now I am in this class for my minor called Death, Society, and Human Experience; shorter title is "Death and Dying". In this class we are learning the rituals and customs following and surrounding death primarily in the US. We also have to examine ourselves and the feelings of others when it comes to death, being that this is a sociology class.
Every night I have to read more into the chapters in my textbook. I have to explore death and relive my own experiences. Each Tuesday and Thursday I have to listen as my professor speaks about death and dying in her sweet soft voice that makes you want to cry even if she's telling a joke.
This class is the essence of melancholy.
Our first assignment was online and we had to tell our experiences with death. Whether we were "insiders" having had loved ones die or of that nature; or if we were "outsiders" having had little to no experience with a loved one dying.
In writing my post I made it very short and sweet. Saying basically, "Yes I am an insider and yes I have seen too much death for my young age." I couldn't bring myself to give anymore grave (excuse the pun) details.
Later as I began exploring our textbook I found a few surveys that inquired about my experience with death again. This time it got personal.
It asked me if I had known anyone who had attempt suicide: Yes.
It asked if I had known anyone who had committed suicide: Yes.
Then it asked me how these things have affected me as of now.
Words cannot describe to you the anguish and heartache that those memories brought back. Two years ago grief counselors were recommended to those of us who knew Scott MacKenzie. But I said to myself that I was fine. For a while I thought I was. I went about my life, even went to his funeral (but left before it started because I couldn't let anyone see me cry). For months I was in denial that he was even dead. That he had even done what he had done. I saw jeeps like his all around, I saw Marine stickers everywhere and I thought it could be him. I saw the Lacrosse team at school and looked for him to be with them. I even tried calling him a few times.
There was always an empty seat in our communications class after September 28, 2011. It also felt like there was an empty place in my heart. I couldn't come to grips that my friend, who was suppose to meet me for lunch, had shot himself the night before. I knew he wasn't the same when he got back from the war, he had told me what had happened over there and the injuries he had been inflicted with. But I never knew that he would be capable of such a thing.
I suppose the point in me writing this post is that I hope to see a change. I pray that this class not only teaches me about how other people cope but it may also help me to let go of my friend. His anniversary is coming a month from today. I just need God's hand upon me as this time approaches because it doesn't get any easier as time passes.
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