As to Who We Are--or Were, for that matter.

It was February 2nd of this decaying year in which David Weiss died. I make an accurate recollection of this date because it is now and forever a part of his tombstone. I will not even slightly raise my eyebrows if you do not have one indication as to who this man was. With all candor, sincerity, and lack of a good lie-neither do I. There is no hesitation in the admitting that I never will, either. If you have turned a dial to a local news station, like I had on this day, you may or may not have heard this story.

This certain individual, who had lived a noteworthy one-hundred years, survived both world wars, the gas chambers of Auschwitz (in which he lost his pregnant wife and three children), and outlived four wives—plainly and in the least decorous manner, perished in a house fire. It was almost disappointing to have re-read that sentence with such anticipation and impatience for those final words, only to have just sat there, completely unsatisfied. What is the significance? Where is the equitable ending to his classic tale? And for the love of God, where is that unforgettable soundtrack music?!
Who is really listening, anyway. There are some of you who have read the story, and simply disregarded it. Certainly if you were ever to spontaneously just DIE, (knock on wood!) you would be offended if someone left the room during your news report. But if you knew David Weiss, if you had just spoken to this withered man frayed by grief and experience, or even more so, looked him in the eye, would his past project itself as your own pain? Does it convey the message that this man had lived, truly lived to the entirety of his life and still had the desire to keep living? I sense that it is not hard to come to the conclusion that this man had always wanted a typical life. And yet it is so unbelievable that he died such an ordinary death. We are all hunting for an ending that is worth quoting. It may just drive us all one day to the pinnacle of lunacy.
Just a few months ago, a girl I had gone to polish school for eight years with was dreadfully killed in a hit and run incident, while the driver was, naturally, drunk. I cannot even begin to explain what pounded in my head as I saw articles, pictures, and videos of her everywhere. The truth is, I do not write to recollect any of her achievements. I was never well acquainted with her and I am very sorry to say I knew very little about her. The knowledge that I had known this girl, spoken to her, and even laughed with her, is absolutely haunting. I would never given her a second thought if she was still alive now.

She was just fifteen years of age.

She never woke up thinking today would be that final day. Yet it occurred; thus it shall always be. The course of whatever you believe in runs in sporadic ways.
As for the living, it is eating us alive.