When it comes to death I have a certain inability to act appropriately. It seems a situation which defies convention. Condolences always seem artificial and cheap, maybe because in myself I realize that there is no way I could really sympathize or approximate the pain and anguish experienced by another. It's at times like these where the distances between individuals - even the best of friends - can seem staggering. Its never a comfortable moment, yet at the same time the bereaved in question is almost always extremely accommodating and thankful - more awkwardness but in the incongruity lies a sense of understanding, on some level. It seems as if these moments bring into relief the whole history of like-moments, the breakups, the defeats, deaths, injuries, sicknesses which have translated into sorrow, pain and anguish in which the two have each played the role of victim and sympathizer, and that this shared memory of simply being-there, being-part, and the vicissitudes of time it exposes: that everything is in flux, that this moment was lived previously in another sorrow and will be survived by the necessity of a future being-there-for-the-other. An eternal recurrence of the same which grounds true friendship amidst changes of place and date. Perhaps the only method of experiencing in common that which is in essence completely individuated - pain, grief and sorrow, through the bonds of history that make a friendship.
And now to express in song what fails me in words, Amy Millan's Baby I.
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1 comment:
Hey
That's a really beautiful song. I understand what you mean about it. And I think that a good friend will be able to understand how you feel even if the words aren't always there. After years of talking and listening to eachother sometimes the subtext is just as important as the conversation itself.
Cheers
Shayne
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