attitudes and self-focus
Death Comes in Clouds
Death comes in clouds now
And in contrails,
In billows and mushrooms
And smoke. In streaks
Across a morning-blue sky.
It seems wrong, somehow,
The combining
Of horror and beauty. But then
It's not a new mixture
There always has been
The rich ruby sheen of blood
The sleek glimmer of knives
The sparkle of deep water.
Still, death by cloud is new
This past century:
More beauty defiled.
We can't afford
More beauty defiled.
This morning on the news, I saw an interview with the sister of one of the
Columbia astronauts. She said, "We'll get through this, we'll help each other
through this." And of course I felt sorry for her because her brother's dead and
all, and of course I'm glad her family is helping each other deal with grief. But
since when do you talk about "getting through" a grief two days after it's
inflicted? That's not the time to worry about your own mood; that's the time to
weep and wail and rail at God and the universe, or to take and give comfort, or to
mourn the dead person in whatever way that particular person ought to be mourned.
She's probably not really a selfish woman, and it's not fair to judge someone by
what she says in a time of pain, with a microphone shoved in front of her face.
She's probably saying what she thinks people are supposed to say at this sort of
time.
So what sort of culture do we have when concentrating on one's self instead of the
dead person seems like what is supposed to be said?
By the way, kudos to NASA for protecting the immediate families of the astronauts
and asking the reporters to leave them alone.
I'm having trouble with the question "So, how was your weekend?" today. I mean, in
one way, it was fine. I got a massage, made some adjustments to my boat that I
think will help, washed and waxed it, saw a good movie, bought tickets to visit T2
and
Egret, spent loves of time with
Rudder. On the other hand, I spent a lot of it in front of the TV watching footage
of people dying, watching a gut-punch to the only federal agency it's still
possible to love. (Only because love is blind. You do have to squint enough to
ignore the big piles of red tape.) So I had a horribly depressing weekend in that
sense. Maybe I should read what I just wrote and not focus so much on my own
reaction.
Posted by dichroic at February 3, 2003 04:59 PM