Kriss, It's your Old Friend...Death. Hello

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To say that I'm acquainted with death is an understatement. It's more like we have been long time friends and when death comes knocking...it's as if we never missed a beat.  Some of my earliest memories are that of going to funerals, memorials and rosaries. Old Filipino ladies sure do like their rosaries (1) and to show respect for an esteemed elder (2) or that good ol' island friendship that comes from being compatriots, they do it for their homies upon death and even on anniversaries of the death, year after year (ending with a magnificent feast). Anyhoo...

My old lady homie, Pat, recently passed away and everything that is cliche to say about a deceased person can truly and honestly can be said about her: only the good ones die, she will be missed, good person, great to be around etc...I believe that she was 73.

Pat, is that you. What a great photograph.

As the song says death is everywhere and, unfortunately, this past year the lyrics ring so true. My fuckin' atheist mentor and hero, Hitch passed this year. Iconic musicians that I totally looked up to have passed this year. These are people I listened to and danced and lip sank (not lip synch) to. They gave me great pleasure and upon hearing of their death(s)...it rocked my world in a bad, sad way. Just today my good homie told me of his roommates dog passing (the poor thing got killed by another dog). I wish it were not true but death is everywhere.

I recall when I was in high school, like, 82' and this one cute girl in our circle of friends died in a car accident. I felt the numbness of shock and denial. I didn't know what to do so I did what I always did at the time. I went for a ten mile run and tried to lose myself with the pain of burning lungs and acid filled legs. I ran far that day, but death was with me the whole time.


That stupid snake handler pastor that died this past week, and even tho it was needless (to me), there is sort of a silver lining...he died for what he believed in (3). We all have some kinda faith, whether it is faith in critical thinking skills, the scientific method, the peer review process, or a (probably) nonexistent sky father that watches over us. Regardless, he stuck to his guns in the end and I hope I can do the same (4).

The article I blogged about the other day deals with a book that says (among many other things) that the current New Age religions (and I believe religion in general) take us away from the moment of the here and now, the only moment we have (and it can last a second or forever), and tries to replace it with a place not of this earth, a place that probably doesn't exist and a place not in the here and now. Whether it is heaven or the belief of reincarnation, it is not of this world. It is not of this moment. Pat, my friend, we will have no more moments and that makes me sad.



My old lady friend and I used to talk so much and shoot the shit about whatever. Mutual friends and I called her Tweety Bird because, well, that is what she looked like to us. We must have looked like such an old couple, the two of us. Me, a youngish brown dude with a strong California accent and her, an aged lady, super white and frail, talking about her latest overseas trip so I could live vicariously thru her adventures and experiences.

Isn't it backwards...being younger, hipper and (supposedly) full of life, I should have been the one telling her of my adventures and exploits, but that's what Pat is/was. She was so interesting and engaging that an asshole dude like me, that many times doesn't even give super cute girls the time of day, that totally blows people off with no care or consideration, would listen to her stories with the kinda eyes so big and wide that I wish people (girls) would look at me like that. That is Pat.

It's been quite a year for death. Hell, Dick freekin' Clark died. Was' up with that. Some of my earliest memories are that of going to funeral parlors packed with fat Filipinos (we always die of heart attacks. le sigh). I recall going to the hospital to say good-bye to grandma (and as a 3-4 y/o that shit freaked me out because she was all, like, comatose, but when I went up to her bed and touched her hand...she started hyperventilating and shaking). I've seen my heroes pass one by one (3) and many celebrities and musicians that I grew up adoring have been falling by that waist-side that peeps refer to when death appears at that metaphorical door that those same people mention.

But you know what, kind gentle and very good looking readers...

If you don't know why I chose this phot, then your 80's New Waver card is revoked.

...you never get used to it. R.I.P. Pat, old lady homie. I'll miss you,

Kriss

(1) To do a rosary is an epic marathon. When you are a little kid with no patience or attention span, it's even longer. Did young Kriss join the old Filipino ladies in the million step prayer, or play with the other kids. For sure I was a good Filipino Catholic. I had the discipline and devoutness of an adult.

(2) Respect is super big in my culture. It is so demanded and expected that, as I look back, it is totally irrational and in many cases...stupid head. Stupid I tell ya.

* How to do the rosary. Let's make an atheist rosary (I don't even know what that means).

(3) There are no more heroes for my. Last of the heros.

(4) The probability of a death bed conversion for lil' old me is vvveeeerrrrryyyyyyy low. But because I'm an honest skeptic, I'll leave the door open...a little.

* My friends o-bit.