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| 7:45PM - 9 December 2020 |
While at
Mexico City College from1962 to 1963 I took every course of philosophy that
Ramón Xirau taught. He began with the pre-Socratics and ended with Sartre. I
was much affected when Xirau told us that Epicurus taught that humans fear pain
but should not fear death as the moment of death is painless.
This was in
my mind when on December 9, 2020 my Rosemary asked, “Am I dying?” I was
speechless. Now 6 years later I tell myself I should have hugged her and told
her, “I am with you and I love you.”
Because
Rosemary was a financial wizard I do not have to worry about making money. I
live alone with a female cat and I spend a lot of time in thought.
Because I
lived in Mexico for 18 years it was unavoidably impossible not to learn how
Mexicans thought of death. Unlike other cultures they do not seek escape from
thoughts of death.
Both my
mother and grandmother are buried in Mexico. I buried my father in Buenos Aires
in 1966 but I did not pay the so-called perpetual tomb rate. Seven years later
his remains were unburied and scattered. Rosemary’s ashes were scattered by our
eldest daughter in her Lillooet Garden. For me all that is problematic. I
remember going with Rosemary to London’s Westminster Abby and stomping my foot
over the tile that read H.G.Wells and loudly saying, “How are you H.G.?” It is
comforting to know that Rosemary would be somewhere in a spot.
Both of us
did not believe we would ever see each other again. There was a sadness we
shared in that. I even wrote a blog “Who Will Go First?” where I indicated that
should I be the first one Rosemary would not be able to open cans and bottles.
There is a
statistic that is with me every day. She died 6 years ago. I am 84, where will
I be when I am 90? I am a firm believes in statistics.
What keeps
me going, all kinds of daily pills suggested by my wellness expert daughter Hilary,
good doctors (cardiologist, ophthalmologist, urologist and rheumatologist) and
my daily bicycle ride is that because I live with a dear 16 yer-old female cat,
Niña I have to be around until she dies. What will happen if she goes first is
something I cannot seem to plan for.
When
Rosemary died, our family and I were waiting downstairs in the living room for
the funeral people to come to take her away. I told myself that because I was a
photographer I had to take the picture. I went upstairs and there was my
Rosemary dead on the bed. On her chest was Niña sleeping. I will never show the
photograph to anybody but my memory of it is a bond I have with Niña when she
cuddles with me, sits on a chair next to mine in my oficina and follows me like
chiclet’s.
In social
media people write, “Happy birthday Gregory Peck, you died 60 years ago.” I
cannot understand that nor do I understand R.I.P. (originally Requiescat in
Pace) as how can one rest in that afterlife if there isn’t one? Would active
people want to rest once dead?
I spend long
minutes trying to feel not feeling, not seeing, not hearing, not tasting, not
talking and other human activities. I believe it is impossible and Epicurus
would simply say, “Alex, don’t worry
about it. Nothing will help.”
Perhaps,
philosophically “nothing will help” is a revelation.