What a strange world. My fixation with death came nearly two years ago. A month after I left NYC, 9/11 happened. A month later my wife's father died at a very young age. Trigger existential crisis. Yet now I'm going home to see my grandmother before she dies. She's 95, and barely there a lot of the time. And while I will miss her dearly, I don't see it as tragic. I think that as clearly as premature deaths triggered my problems, this impending more natural death has snapped me out of it. Maybe this trip east I'll actually be able to look into that empty corner of sky in lower Manhattan, where I proposed to my wife on the 107th floor, and not feel the need to cry.
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For me death doesn't affect me when large groups of people or relatives are involved. Oddly enough it's when friends die that I'm useless for a week at least.