Writing Prompt: The difference between the first death you remember and the most recent one.

Looking back on the first death of your life is not easy. For most of us, at that time, we’re too young to fully understand or even appreciate any of it, and that includes whomever is laying in the casket at the front of the room.

But my experience with the first death in my life and my most recent one was a study in a life of someone who was fiercely loved versus someone who was merely tolerated.

Perhaps this is an unfair comparison because the two people were so different. But the outcome was the same. It was known that the first death was of someone who would be sorely missed. It was an approximation that the second person may be missed for a short while, but the relief that followed is more prevalent.

Even though that first person was so loved, there weren’t many talks of remembrances. No shared memories or good times. Only muffled sobs and one horrible, miserable cry that I still, to this day, recall with absolute clarity. The shock of the suddenness of it took a long time to dissipate and the words would not come, even when it was time to say goodbye. For the second person, there was a sense of just trying to push through it and not in the way of “we’re trying to be strong and keep it together until we’re behind closed doors.” It was a push, a shove really, to get it over with. There were some in attendance who spoke of a funny antidote or recollection but even those held the same pressure of having to say something, anything, just to fill the silence in the room and the perhaps, shame of not having a better way to send this person off. It wasn’t for lack of trying. The disdain and misery the deceased had lived with for so long had permeated every square inch of those left behind. The funeral was the moment they needed to finally cut the strings of it, once and for all.

Unbelievable. This is the first thing I’ve written in months and it’s depressing as hell.