My Happy Brain Thinks Happy Thoughts

When I was in high school, a girl died. She was in the grade below me and she was coming home from a party, being dropped off at her house late at night. She got out of the car and stepped out between two parked cars, to cross the street to her house. A car speeding along the street hit her.

I thought about this today when I was going to get Trombone from daycare. I had just exited the bus and usually I cross at a crosswalk but today I realized I was in all dark clothing and it’s hard enough to get cars to stop at that particular crosswalk. On a sunny day I’d just as easily be struck as be allowed to cross so today, in the rain & new dark evening I walked up a block and crossed at the light. I ambled through piles of wet leaves down the street to daycare.

When the girl in high school died, a mass hysteria took over the school. She had been a popular girl, known by a lot of people, but certainly not everyone; yet everyone was crying in the halls, everyone was writing memorial poetry, if it was happening today, everyone would have made little remembrance ribbons and pinned them on their jackets.

The school administration offered counseling to all of the students. There was a special assembly and we were all encouraged to go outside and line the sidewalk when her funeral procession went by. I wondered why we were being encouraged so to mourn; it felt like we were being forced. So she went to my school. Yeah? I heard a lot of “So young…so innocent…so tragic…” and I got that we should all care more when a young innocent (never figured out what this means – virgin? never shoplifted? untouched by original sin?) dies. We should make an effort to care and make noise about the injustice of it all when the person who dies is valuable in our eyes.

I overheard some people on the train talking about the recent shootings in Vancouver. “I feel bad for his kid,” said the one person, “she had to call 911 for her own dad. But maybe she’s better off without a father who is a criminal.” “He deserved to die,” agreed the other person, “when you’re a criminal you take your chances. I bet he did some bad shit to somebody else.”

We go through the papers and assign value to the dead we meet there. Soldiers, our side: sad. Soldiers, their side: the price of war. Old person, heart transplant: sad. Old person, home invasion: tragic. Young person, street race: one less street racer. Young person, hit and run: tragic.

Dead is dead is dead. There’s no sliding scale of dead. We’re fooling ourselves if we think some people deserve to die – and thus don’t deserve to be mourned – while others less deserving of death are worthy of more respect and tears. Death happens to everyone. Even me. Even you. Deserve it or not, here we come.

I looked both ways, crossed the street. Got my kid, came home.