thoughts of death

The new Harry Potter got me thinking about death. Again. (No, I'm not going to say anything else about H.P., except that I enjoyed it, and I await the next one impatiently -- I don't know how to talk about it without giving away too much of the plot.)

Anyway ... death.

Everyone goes through a stage of thinking about it, I guess. Adolescent angst. Then I guess most of us put it out of our minds until someone we know dies, or we feel the first twinges of mortality. I haven't, quite, got out of the adolescent angst stage yet, I guess.

It's funny, I've never really been afraid of death -- not in itself, if you know what I mean. I alway figured, when you died, you'd be dead, so ... you wouldn't be feeling anything, is my point. It's being left behind, when someone you love dies, that always scared me. Not that there were a lot of people contending for that honor. Only one, actually. But every now and then I'd think of my brother dying, and it would freak me out.

Now ... it's funny, but he still keeps me alive. I mean, when we were kids he kept me alive because I had someone who cared about me. That was enough, y'know? But it never occurred to me it went two ways. I never thought that it would matter to him if I was dead or alive.

That sounds stupid, when I've just said I knew he cared about me. But I don't mean I didn't think it would matter to him, I meant ... that I simply never thought about it. You know kids, self-obsessed. Now I know how devastated he would be, and that makes me want to be alive.

God that sounds suicidal. I don't mean it like that. I want to be alive; I've been suicidal and I'm a very long way from that. I'm happy, really happy right now. It's just ... I don't know, I guess I'm trying to say that I care more for being alive for my brother's sake than I do for my own, although I'm perfectly happy.

That sounds screwed-up, doesn't it? Story of my life.