The first question

So--with all THAT in mind...

Big question #1: "Aren't you SCARED?"

(This is not The Biggest Question, of course. The Biggest Question will be a post for another night, a night when I'm angry enough to answer it truthfully and without sugar-coating. There are other big questions to answer first, all of which lead into The Biggest Question.)

The answer--the SHORT answer--to this one is "No, not really." Like most short answers, it's only about half true; actually I -am- scared, or else why would I be taking all these security measures? I mean, deadbolts on the front door and an alarm system--those things I would have on ANY house I bought, regardless of the neighborhood. If I'm gonna pay on something for the next 30 years, it's damn well gonna be kept as safe as I can keep it. But in any other neighborhood, would I have the alarms on EVERY window, even the inaccessible one over the stairs? or the iron cagework installed over the inside of the basement door, so that even if a burglar got through the basement door itself, he wouldn't be able to actually get IN? or the deadbolt on the bedroom door, so if someone actually DID get in, I'd have somewhere to run while waiting for the police? In any other neighborhood, would I be planning how to carry an inconspicuous assortment of defensive weapons on my person every morning when I walk to the train, just in case--a boxcutter on my keychain, perhaps, or a utility-knife blade in a little sheath on my wrist?

But of course, to admit to any of these thoughts is to admit fear, and thank you, there's plenty of OTHER people's fear floating around THIS enterprise. So for the most part, I stick with the short answer, knowing that's the only answer I can give that will get me even the pretense of peace. It satisfies no one, of course. "Aren't you SCARED?" is not so much a question as an accusation; a kinder way of saying "You idiot, you're moving into hell and you're almost guaranteed to die. Don't you KNOW that?"

And really, it's a fortunate thing that no one actually phrases it just that way, because if they did, I'd be forced to give a REAL answer: "Actually, I -do- know that, and I'm not terribly concerned." THAT tends to be the answer that gets you locked away, you know? THAT tends to be the answer that answers the other questions too, the questions that haven't been asked, that have nothing to do with the house or the neighborhood.

So then: Corrolary to big question #1: "You idiot, you're moving into hell and you're almost guaranteed to die. Don't you KNOW that?"

That question, if they could ask it at all, is freighted with clear implications: that dying is a Bad Thing, that someone in her right mind would go to any lengths to AVOID dying. That any place where people have a chance to die is, of necessity, a bad place, something to be avoided. What I can't tell them--some because they would then know too much about me, some because they already do--is this: I'm not afraid of it.

My fear of death evaporated in October of 1995 when JP died. The moment when the policeman came into the locked holding room and looked at me with that mix of pity and contempt and said to me "He did pass..." Until that moment, I'd been ABSOLUTELY SURE that this was just another misadventure brought to us by the Wild World of Junkie--like my overdose, like his other allergic reaction, like cotton fever or dopesickness or any of the other crazy shit that we'd lived through that year--and since it was just another misadventure, the paramedics would be able to do whatever paramedic magic they had in their little bags and vials, and somewhere along the line they would bring him back to me. Someday we'd all look back on it and laugh, right?

When that didn't happen--when the magic didn't work, when the god who'd been watching over us so vigilantly for so long took the night off and let JP die--that was when dying stopped being a big deal for me. I'm not a Catholic anymore; I'm not an -anything- anymore, so the whole "afterlife" question is wide-open. Once JP was gone I had to face that question: what happens after? Between what little faith I ever had, and the biology I've learned, I've narrowed it down to a small set of possibilities.

Possibility #1:There really is an afterlife in the traditional sense--heaven, hell, purgatory, all those basic concepts--and when I die I'll end up in one of them. Purgatory is a temporary thing, from what I was taught; therefore, it's heaven or hell, and though I'll admit to fucking up I don't think I'm QUITE hellbound. (I know, I know--I diverge wildly with most religions about what would send a soul to hell...Heroin, no. Exploiting other humans for personal gain? Yeah. Hell will be full of corporate CEOs and Republicans, if you ask me. But I digress.) Ergo, Possibility One culminates with a joyful heavenly reunion with JP for all eternity; therefore, Nothing To Fear In This Case.

Possibility #2 is based on pure, unromantic biology. For whatever reason--old age or a bullet to the head--the body processes cease. No breathing, no pulse--end of discussion. Most importantly, NO brain activity. We die, we're dead, we decay, and though there's no eternal bliss of reunion with JP, at least I'm not walking the earth like I have been for the last eight years, thinking about everything that might have been If Only. Possibility #2: Eternal nothingness--the mercy of not having to miss him anymore. Once again--Nothing To Fear In This Case.

Possibility #3 gets a little less Judeo-Christian; though I have no evidence to back it up, it's still a nice thought, so I add it here to round out the set. In this case it's not about heaven or hell, or stillness and rot; it's about what you learned last time around. We were all very cool with the reincarnation thing in college--particularly after any minor sort of fuck-up, it was comforting to think we might have the chance to do right next time, to know later what we didn't know in time. In this case, it all gets put right: I come back, JP comes back, we're destined to cross paths again, and eventually--even though I don't know it--I get to make up for everything I did and everything I didn't do THIS time around. Possibility #3: I get a second chance. Once again: Nothing To Fear In This Case.

And that's the lot. Mind you, I'm none too excited about the PROCESS of dying; my little agnostic's prayer is this--Please let me die quickly and painlessly, and grant me much more mercy than I deserve. I've got absolutely no desire to age slowly and gracelessly, becoming less and less capable. My capability and my brains right now are all I've got with which to comfort myself, and the thought of losing either of them makes me MOST unhappy. Given the choice between a sudden yet incomprehensible death at 33, and slow deterioration til my final end at, say, 85--I'll take 33 in a walk.

So, to answer the first question: Yes, I'm aware I could die. No, that doesn't particularly upset me.