Dominion: All Death. All The Time.
Apr. 13th, 2010 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ailbheWhile Rob and Emer were out at the market today I was having a nice hot bath, pains for the alleviation of, and Linnea came in, face crumpling.
At some point in our conversations about Death, I mentioned that if no-one ever died the world would fill up and we couldn't have any more babies ever. It was one of those throw-out-a-thousand-answers things during an hour's heartbroken sobbing, I don't remember what else I came up with that time. But that one stuck. So Linnea has decided that since the Universe is infinite but we can't just magic the world bigger, the solution is to go to other planets, build biodomes, terraform them, et cetera. So far so sensible (she was quite pleased to learn that people were already building biodomes and learning about terraforming, in a small terrestrial way, so that was nice).
This evening she burst into the bathroom and asked me how many of the planets were close enough to the sun for people to live on. I explained that they were all different distances from the sun, and at this Yet Another Damn Insurmountable Problem in her quest to end entropy, she crumbled completely. So I rapidly explained that a lot of Earth has no-one living in it yet and we might make deserts habitable or something, for practice for Mars, and asked her again why she wanted people to go to other planets.
And so she admitted, for the first time in several tearstained discussions of interplanetary colonisation, that it's so that no-one has to die.
And I explained that people do die, anyway, and that even if we know how to go to other planets, we don't know how to stop people dieing, yet. And that people who went to other planets would want to bring their children, yes, and their pets, yes, and that pets usually died before people did. We talked about how long cats and people live for.
And we were back at the beginning, like so many weeks ago.
I explained a little about what I believe happens when people die - that their bodies have nothing left, that there's no thinking, no mind. She knows all this, of course, and has done for years. I said that a lot of people believe that people's minds go on living without their bodies, that minds need no ears to hear or eyes to see and so we can talk to them or they can see us wherever we are. I said that without bodies people couldn't feel pain, and that nothing bad could happen any more. I said that some people thought that that part of people - the part that isn't their body - goes to Heaven. I said that my Nana, and Rob's Mormor, both thought that that's what would happen when they died.
I wrapped her in my bathtowel even though she was dressed, because she was shivering uncontrollably from head to foot, and I leaned over the side of the bath and I hugged her, a lot.
I talked about how being dead is ok for the dead people, but very sad for the people left behind. We talked about the baby in my tummy, and earthquakes, and how people in rich countries try to help people in poor countries when bad things happen. We talked about the people who died in Haiti's quake, and about the people who lived and what things are like there now. I talked about how she is already one of the people who tries to help people and makes the world a better place, but she didn't really believe me.
Then Rob came home and she went and sat on his lap while Emer got into my bath and Linnea and Rob talked sadly and quietly about space for a long time and I kept Emer busy as long as I could and eventually both children went to bed and I finished reading the seventh Mantlemass novel and got out of the bath and now I'm in bed too.
If only she didn't really understand. If only I believed enough in some coherent structure of God and Heaven to be able to tell her comforting things.
If only it wasn't so harrowing to have her cry so long and so sincerely and so often about something so utterly, utterly unfixable.
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
God would be such a comfort to her, if I could make her believe in it. I have offered her the choice, but I can't lie to her: she is my own little piece of godliness on this world and I will not lie to her about something so important.
I need to come up with a coherent summary of my goddish thoughts and let her know what they are.
And meanwhile, it's up to me to wipe away the tears from her eyes.
At some point in our conversations about Death, I mentioned that if no-one ever died the world would fill up and we couldn't have any more babies ever. It was one of those throw-out-a-thousand-answers things during an hour's heartbroken sobbing, I don't remember what else I came up with that time. But that one stuck. So Linnea has decided that since the Universe is infinite but we can't just magic the world bigger, the solution is to go to other planets, build biodomes, terraform them, et cetera. So far so sensible (she was quite pleased to learn that people were already building biodomes and learning about terraforming, in a small terrestrial way, so that was nice).
This evening she burst into the bathroom and asked me how many of the planets were close enough to the sun for people to live on. I explained that they were all different distances from the sun, and at this Yet Another Damn Insurmountable Problem in her quest to end entropy, she crumbled completely. So I rapidly explained that a lot of Earth has no-one living in it yet and we might make deserts habitable or something, for practice for Mars, and asked her again why she wanted people to go to other planets.
And so she admitted, for the first time in several tearstained discussions of interplanetary colonisation, that it's so that no-one has to die.
And I explained that people do die, anyway, and that even if we know how to go to other planets, we don't know how to stop people dieing, yet. And that people who went to other planets would want to bring their children, yes, and their pets, yes, and that pets usually died before people did. We talked about how long cats and people live for.
And we were back at the beginning, like so many weeks ago.
I explained a little about what I believe happens when people die - that their bodies have nothing left, that there's no thinking, no mind. She knows all this, of course, and has done for years. I said that a lot of people believe that people's minds go on living without their bodies, that minds need no ears to hear or eyes to see and so we can talk to them or they can see us wherever we are. I said that without bodies people couldn't feel pain, and that nothing bad could happen any more. I said that some people thought that that part of people - the part that isn't their body - goes to Heaven. I said that my Nana, and Rob's Mormor, both thought that that's what would happen when they died.
I wrapped her in my bathtowel even though she was dressed, because she was shivering uncontrollably from head to foot, and I leaned over the side of the bath and I hugged her, a lot.
I talked about how being dead is ok for the dead people, but very sad for the people left behind. We talked about the baby in my tummy, and earthquakes, and how people in rich countries try to help people in poor countries when bad things happen. We talked about the people who died in Haiti's quake, and about the people who lived and what things are like there now. I talked about how she is already one of the people who tries to help people and makes the world a better place, but she didn't really believe me.
Then Rob came home and she went and sat on his lap while Emer got into my bath and Linnea and Rob talked sadly and quietly about space for a long time and I kept Emer busy as long as I could and eventually both children went to bed and I finished reading the seventh Mantlemass novel and got out of the bath and now I'm in bed too.
If only she didn't really understand. If only I believed enough in some coherent structure of God and Heaven to be able to tell her comforting things.
If only it wasn't so harrowing to have her cry so long and so sincerely and so often about something so utterly, utterly unfixable.
And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.
God would be such a comfort to her, if I could make her believe in it. I have offered her the choice, but I can't lie to her: she is my own little piece of godliness on this world and I will not lie to her about something so important.
I need to come up with a coherent summary of my goddish thoughts and let her know what they are.
And meanwhile, it's up to me to wipe away the tears from her eyes.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-04-14 01:15 pm (UTC)My own private response to people dying is to spend a few days desperately trying to go back in time through force of will alone and alter the circumstances which led to their death. This doesn't work.
I do think of you often. Every time I think of my own mum, in fact.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-04-14 02:02 pm (UTC)Do you think maybe that's what she needs to hear? I mean, I wonder whether she thinks there must be some secret that the grown-ups know in order to live with this knowledge, and maybe the fact that everyone knows it and hates it but just sort of ignores it day to day because it's too sad to think about is something she can learn to imitate. But I don't know. It sounds really hard for you both.