you’re an avid reader of my blog you may notice ongoing themes. Fashion, motivation/ life stories and death. For a seemingly upbeat blog it’s slightly morbid. Death has unfortunately been a big part of my life, I’ve lived to see the dwindling of my family through the one thing promised to us all. I truly envy those persons who have never experienced a death and when the natural cycle of life takes their old grandparent it’s the first time they’ve experienced it. All throughout my life I’ve known death. It’s emptied my household one by one and the hardest of them all was my father’s. He left me when I was 10 and my brother 3 and for 13 years I’ve been in mourning. I was strangely self conscious about feeling sad after all these years. Why do I still cry? Shouldn’t I have gotten over it by now? But I realised it was just a traumatic death to deal with. You see, he died tragically, not by his will, through someone else’s miscalculation that left a once nuclear family fatherless. He is the only one in my family that hasn’t gone peacefully or whose chapter we saw closing. So I guess the suddenness and dramatics of his death chipped a piece of my heart and scared me. But still thinking back I wondered why I struggled so much with his passing then I realised he didn’t die in the era of social media.
If I were to die today, my image may be passed around on social media with heartfelt messages by my friends. Those who never knew me would wish me a peaceful rest. Those who loved me would make my memory live on with videos and stories of me. My high school may post on their facebook page their condolence to my family and my blog would be a frozen frame of the spirit I had. If I died today you would be bombarded with my imagery. Those who never knew me would know of me, those who loved me would repost me and those who hated me would scroll past me, still with thoughts of me. I’d rather die now because of social media. Because it would be easier to remember me.
My father died in the days of print pictures, flash photography and polaroid imagery. And with him his laugh died. His voice died. His smile died. The pictures I have of him are damaged and torn and minutely reflective of the man he was. After 13 years I recently saw pictures of him. Beautiful pictures of him with me in his arms. Pictures of the man I loved. Pictures where his smile was so bright and infectious you couldn’t help but smile. I looked in the album and smiled at his memory and flipped the pages and smiled at the life we once had. But for 13 years I fought to remember his eyes, his face, his stature. The memories I had of him were so cloudy after 13 years, that I started to forget the man. But maybe if he lived for me to post his picture every father’s day as age caught up with him his death wouldn’t leave me so forgetful. Maybe if I posted random pictures to my facebook persons would understand why I wear black every October, for the month he left us. Maybe if I archived his tweets I could remember his personality through the words he expressed. Maybe if I saved his snap stories I could remember his gestures, the way he laughed in real time. Maybe if I saved our whats app conversation I could remember how much he loved me. Maybe if he died with social media it would be easier to say in loving memory.
This wasn’t a literal post, just an interesting way to look at death then and now.
Thank you for stopping by Leveridged Lives.