#gatheraroundthefire

[jeannahas]

Midnight Musings - Mortality

Every once in a while, something happens that makes you realize that you could die at any given moment. 

A bit of a sobering thought, but also...comforting? It’s weird. All of my life, I have feared being forgotten. It’s why I’ve come up with so many stories, tried to spread them, tried to plant seeds of memory in the minds of others. Fanfiction, actual novels that never got off of the computer screen, DnD campaigns that made me realize that I actually do have a knack for storytelling, for emotion, for tense moments and deep drama. 

I remember moments when authors I’d adored passed on. When authors who have forever marked the modern scene simply...passed on. No more words. No more stories, no more fascinating settings, no more anecdotes. 

Oddly, the nature of Mortality never really hit me until Technoblade died. 

Now, firstly: I do not follow any Minecraft anything. At all. I’ve played the game maybe a total of 12 times. I actually never even watched one of his videos until after he’d died, but...he had been so persistent, so utterly present in the online scene. He was referenced in fanart, fan animations ( which I did have a habit of trying to find and follow along with) and for years I’ve been puzzled by his popularity. 

then, out of the blue, he was just kind of...gone. People were mourning, anthems and animations received new comments about how they hit different now, since their inspiration was gone. Sadder, more forlorn. 

                                                          *

A lot of what I have done in my life has been in a mad quest for legacy. I know - as I mentioned in my last pondering around 2:00 AM - that in the grand scheme of humanity, I am a drop in the pond, as likely to succeed as any other- being not very much, but more than some. I will make an impact on many lives, but, tomorrow, three hours from now, seven years from now, something might happen that would... turn out the lights. And then it might be me, lying on the cold floor, or the unforgiving burning concrete of Las Vegas, who’s life would cease. All the stories kicking around in my mind, the thoughts, the emotions, the memories...pass on. I won’t be able to share them anymore, not even once, not even in passing. 

It’s a sobering thought. Each day I spend with my young family is a blessing, but do I treat it like one? Do I savor my daughter’s laughs as she spins in circles, having discovered that she can swing her arms wildly around her? Do I relish the embrace of my wife as she holds me close, as she hugs me when I get back from a fruitful day teaching martial arts? How would I be remembered by those around me? What will be the ashes, the footprints, the whispers on the wind that trail behind me after I am gone? 

the most haunting thing is the thought that I might not know. I do believe in an afterlife, but will we be aware of the things said of us when we are gone? 

Life will go on, and I don’t know if that is a comfort or an insult. The queen of England just died for example, and my personal life is 100% unaffected. ( USA citizen.) I just shrugged. Thought. “Huh. About time, she was 96 - that’s frickin old.” A bit direspectful, but that was my first response. At the same time, I know that she was an important figure to many - politically, culturally, emotionally even. 

so, what do we do, when facing our own mortality? when facing the fact that an errant gunman or gangster could kill me without meaning to if a firefight broke out in the street 200 yards away? 

We do our best, I have decided. We write, we laugh, we try to make the world around us a little brighter, a little cleaner, a little better in hopes that we can make a better world for our little ones when they have to face the horrors of this world. We write, we share our stories, we laugh around the campfire, as our ancestors have done for millennia upon millennia, till the finding of that first spark. 

We are creatures of stories - let us share them, and laugh, and cry, and raise a glass for those forgotten souls who have passed on with only the quietest of echoes, who’s memories are fading and faded. And, best as we can, let us try to hold on to the memories of those who’s echoes still sound within our own minds. 

-J.Na’Has