Hey Evan,

On the morning that Evan's mother came in to speak about her experiences with death, I did not come to school because I was sick. I do not I like missing school or making excuses.  Since I was not present the only thing that I could do was to be resourceful and read blogs written by other peoples' blogs, to find out what I missed. 

Here are some of the insights that I gained from reading the class blogs: that people have trouble speaking about how those who lose a loved one may feel about death; that people sometimes pity and become uncomfortable when the topic of death comes up; that people like to speak positively about the dead and try to avoid commenting on the negative aspects of a person's life, even if they are truthful; that people don't like to confront the reality of death until it is right upon them; that hospitals are unpleasant places and leave lasting impressions that cloud our memories of those who die. 

The first blog that I read was Evan's. I think his name was the first blog I chose to read because I wanted to understand how he might relate to the death of someone who was close to him.  I also wanted to see how he wrote about his father's death being spoken about in front of his peers. After reading Evan's post, I noticed that I might have responded similarly to a conversation about the death of a parent. Like Evan, every time stories about my mother's death are told, people who have not known her seem to grow uncomfortable. In reaction to their discomfort I've tried to disconnect myself as much as possible from the situation. My face remains serious, and I might look down or away. I've never found pity amusing, but I do appreciate it when someone is interested in discussing my mother's death and how I might have dealt with it.  However, most of the time people change the topic or become quiet.  This is similar to what Evan described in his blog.  People talked about the death of his father without commenting on how Evan might have been feeling.  This is an example of the way people can become disconnected when we speak about death.  At the end of Evans post he spoke about our peers, and how his name didn't show up in their posts. I found this interesting, and I was able to relate to his observation because when people hear that my mother passed away from cancer, they apologize (pity) and then change the topic (disconnect).  I see this as an indication of the way people  deal with death.  They are often unsure of what to say to a person who has experienced a devastating loss.

The next blogpost I read was Casey's (possibly because the words 'good model' have been written next to her name for most of this school year). In this blogpost, I was able to gather a completely different perspective about Evan's fathers death. From Casey's blog, I got the impression that Evan's family liked to think of his father's life in a more positive light, but also understood the reality that Evan's father had flaws too. I thought about this balanced way of looking at a person who died and related it to my mothers death, and other friends and family who have died in recent years.  An insight that I have concluded from funerals and from gatherings where we speak about those who have recently died is that people like to speak highly or positively of the dead and it can be considered taboo to bring up things that might not be seen as flattering, even if they are the truth. For example, if I were speaking to my grandmother (mother's mother) about my mother, and mentioned that sometimes my mother could be stubborn, I think my grandmother might not speak to me for at least a week. Another thing that Casey's blog mentioned was that Evan's family didn't confront the actual death until the last months before it actually happened. I connected this denial to my own experience with my mother's fatal illness. Although we knew her illness was serious it was not until the doctors informed us that there were only a few weeks left that we began to lose hope.  In fact, it was only in the last weeks that I realized, "Oh shit, my mothers about to die". From Casey's blog I realized that the denial I experienced was similar and that it is common for people to avoid accepting the truth.  To accept death in its permanence and in the life changing consequences it invariably creates, is difficult for many people. I connected this tendency to avoid the truth to our book, Tuesdays with Morrie, where the dying protagonists, Morrie wanted to accept the death for what it was, and in this process, decided to have a "living funeral" because he felt that there was more importance to the words said in the ceremony if he were there.
 

The last blogpost that I read was John's, simply because I was interested in his perspectives on Beth's presentation. In Johns introduction to his blogpost, he stated that he agreed with Beth's perspectives on hospitals.  He also said that Beth would rather think positively about the dead, but he couldn't relate to the feeling of growing closer to somebody as they die. His comments about hospitals brought up very negative memories for me. He described Beths point of view of hospitals as a disconnection to the confrontation of death. John described a hospital as a place with, "a lifeless tone of white beds and sheets and walls." This reminded me of a brief period of my life where I spent almost every day in the hospital- florescent lights, that sour smell of illness, and the depressing feeling that washed over you as you enter a cancer patient's room. I then imagined Beth as a woman that might agree with more holistic ways of living, and, dying.  When John mentioned that he couldn't relate to the closeness of Erik's death, I realized that I could relate to that. When my mother was first diagnosed, I was really young. Memories of my mother before her illness are rare, cloudy, and disconnected, and it is so much easier for me to recall my last memories of her. People try to tell me that I should think of the "good times" instead of when she was sick, but I was too young to really remember those "times".  I respond to their naivete is to tell people that I knew and understood my mother best when she was sick. And I've grown to understand that there is nothing wrong with that nor even with her death.