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June 22, 2006
Makeshift Vigils
First and foremost, I'm doing much better on the anxiety front. Seems that the problem is rooted in being exhausted. I've been paying attention, and there's a direct correlation between how well-rested I am and how calm I am. My current mission: rest. Because of that, there hasn't been much going on over the past few days.
Clara Jane couldn't be bothered to take a nap yesterday. By the time B. got home, I was so run-down that I fell asleep at my desk. Eventually I woke up, ate a buffalo-meat hot dog that magically appeared in my kitchen while I was out cold, and disappeared to the library, unwilling to face bedtime with The Non-Sleeping Wonder.
After the library I decided to take a drive. Specifically, I wanted to take a drive out to St. Charles and get a Nutty Cow latte. Decaf, of course, what with the sleep and exhaustion problems. Latte in hand, I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the side street. I noticed a conglomeration of people standing at the intersection of the side street and major street a block ahead. A protest? A parade? What in the world would prompt a gang to gather at dusk on a Wednesday night in the middle of the intersection in front of a gas station out in the 'burbs?
The traffic light turned red, and I found myself waiting in the middle of the group. The Beastie Boys' "No Sleep Til Brooklyn" shuffled up on my iPod, and, as I always do when the Beastie Boys come on, I turned it up as loud as it would go. I refrained from busting into the Cabbage Patch, for once in my life. Which is a good thing. Instead, I opted to gawk at the crowd. Most people seemed to be milling around, visiting, and doing their own gawking. On the main street, a young girl sat on the trunk of a bronze Chevy Cavalier, watching the crowd. Close to the curb, some people embraced. A young woman in yellow shorts and a bikini top wiped tears from her eyes. Through the crowd I could see a large, hand-lettered sign. There were enough people in the way that I couldn't read the whole thing, but I got the gist: someone had died at this location, and this was some sort of impromptu memorial service.
I wasn't sure what to do. What's the appropriate etiquette in such a situation? Do I need to pull over, like when a funeral procession passes? Do I get out and join the mill-abouts? Do I need to turn on my headlights? Yes, I did, if only because it was getting dark. I turned on my headlights. Is honking appropriate? Probably not. Better not risk it. In fact, to be extra-safe, I put the iPod on pause so that they wouldn't be disturbed by the mad beats.
Today, Clara Jane and I returned to the coffeehouse after daycare, as my usual coffeehouse was having air conditioner issues and was 114 degrees. Within ten minutes of eavesdropping, I learned what last night's meeting was about. Late Monday night, two 19-year-old boys were killed in a car accident at the intersection.
Now, I want to make something 100% clear: I'm not making fun of the people I saw on Wednesday night. Whatever gets a person through tragedy is wholely up to that person; it's not up to me to pass judgement on anyone's style of grieving. Especially in a situation like this, which was tragic and completely avoidable.
That having been said, I don't understand this style of mourning. This is probably my avoidant tendancies talking, but if someone I loved were to meet with a tragic end, the last place I'd want to grieve would be the place where it happened. In fact, I'd probably take painstaking steps to avoid that location for years to come. But that's me.
While it was obvious that there were some people there in search of comfort, the vast majority seemed to be gawkers. The gathering looked more like a block party than a wake. Maybe I don't have much faith in humanity, but I know my first instinct when coming upon the group was to get out and see what was going on. I didn't, but the urge certainly was there.
What point am I making? I have no idea. I'm tired, remember? I just thought it was a strange place to find myself, awkwardly watching the mourning and milling-around, waiting for the light to change so I could turn the music back up, and feeling incredibly guilty for doing so.
Yeah, I know, I've blogged about death twice in less than a week. Don't read anything into that. I'm fine, just commenting on what I've seen this week. Tomorrow, I'll shuffle and it'll all be fine.
Posted by Robin at June 22, 2006 06:45 PM
Comments
I have often wondered about this myself. Seems there are people who want to go to where the dearly departed actually departed and there are those who visit the dearly departed's final resting place. Is it any less strange to visit where their body lies rotting than it is to visit the place of their death? I think about this everytime I see roadside tributes (crosses, wreathes, etc.) I have never visited the site of my Dad's death. I think it would make me too sad. Defnitely sadder than visiting his grave, which I have done many times.
Posted by: Monica at June 23, 2006 12:15 AM
it is strange isn't it? here in Italy often the families will build little shrines on the side of the road, where the person died, and keep fresh flowers and candles lit all year round..
Posted by: nicki at June 23, 2006 04:07 AM
Maybe people hope to contact the ghost of the person at their death site. I don't know where my grandparents died, but I'd like to find out and go there and see what they last saw. It has something to do with connection.
I'm going to be incredibly crass and say When will teenagers stop speeding?! How many more young kids have to die as examples! Wear your freakin' seat belt and slow the heck down!
And nobody should wear yellow shorts, even if it's the hoochie at TG Market in her pajamas exposing her firm proud buttocks (Simpsons quote).
Posted by: allison at June 23, 2006 08:38 AM
It's certainly true that everyone deals with a loss in a different way... In the four years since losing my fiance', my trips to the park where he died have gotten further and further apart, but those first few months I went there several times just to sit at a picnic table and write. I'm sure it makes a difference that all anyone ever told me was "in the park," nobody said anything specific about which area of the park -- and I'm sure that if I'd seen any of what had happened that day, I wouldn't go anywhere near the park at all.
A friend shared a real Gem with me -- I didn't believe her then, but I believe her now; "Life goes on, we go on; it doesn't get any easier, but we get stronger day by day."
Posted by: Debbie at June 23, 2006 01:39 PM
