#on to the topic of bereavement

[fuckingarataswespeak]

I'm so scared of losing my friends

[librarycards]

hi sarah. feel free to delete this if it’s too much, but do you know of any work (academic, personal essays, art, etc) about grieving someone who’s died to suicide/wishing they were alive while also grappling with how to square it with your anti-psych, anti-carceral, pro-bodily autonomy politics? for reference i’ve read Alexandre Baril’s paper on Suicidism before and may revisit it in this light, as well as aleks thom's writing on disenfranchised grief and your lovely recent poem about suicide, but i’m sort of at a loss about where to look for other work about the intersection of these specific topics. many thanks and much love in advance

thank you so much for asking! i feel strange saying "i'm sorry for your loss" because it's clichéd and trite and you've heard it a billion times before. i am sorry, though, and i am equally sorry that you carry your loss into a world that is so deeply hostile to everyone affected by suicide – loved ones, those who have attempted, those who have completed, those who are dealing with suicidal thoughts, all of us.

i think that perhaps the most useful thing to remember is a bit simpler and a lot more challenging than can be conveyed in a paper or poem. it's that peoples' bodyminds are their own, including when they treat said bodyminds in ways we on the outside don't like. this is true for people who do all manner of "unhealthy" and "self-harmful" things, and as loved ones, it's incredibly fucking hard to witness, especially when the consequences are deadly.

suicide grief, and in general, work by loved ones and caregivers to those of us who experience extreme states, is pretty tough to find in the area of Mad studies. this is partially justified, given the degree to which we've all been spoken over and around by abusive "caregivers." yet it also denies the simultaneity embedded in basically any Mad community: we are all both, because we're all together and hurting at once.

i actually have two friends who have written about their own experiences as suicidal + Mad people who have lost close people to suicide: MT Vallerta, a scholar-poet [check out In Memoriam], and poet S.G. Huerta [you should read their poetry book, Last Stop].

Sophie Lewis also wrote an intriguing piece that touches on suicidality, death doulaing, and kinship.

Emily Krebs studies suicide/bereavement from a Mad crip abolitionist perspective, and is worth checking out.

i think it's also a good idea to remember that a way to honor those who have completed suicide is to take better care of suicidal people who are still alive. it only does more harm to suicidal people to approach ideation/attempts carcerally, and indeed encourages more covert, risky, and isolated methods rather than open dialogue. here are some ways to honor - not only support, but truly honor, trust, and respect suicidal people:

candidly speak about death, self-harm, and "dark thoughts" - and what to do around them - before and outside of immediate crises. be explicit in your intentions to support those who are actively suicidal before the next crisis occurs. ask people their preferences - who should you call? is the hospital ever on the table, and if so, under what conditions? who will be there to advocate for them when interacting with carceral authorities?

be candid about how their actions affect you, without placing blame. when someone attempts suicide, everyone they love is affected. this is not the person's fault, but it is something that needs to be addressed in community. here's an example from my own life: a dear friend was forcibly hospitalized after an attempt. i had been a main support person of hers in previous crises, when we lived near each other. when we spoke about her experience months later, i admitted that i felt "guilty" and as though i had somehow caused her to be institutionalized by living in a different place now. she admitted to me that she felt "guilty" for having "let [her loved ones] down" and "letting" her health deteriorate. we were able to find comfort and commonality in our affective experiences, and have become better friends for it.

cool it with the solutions. ask for consent before doing anything, but especially giving advice. many people kill themselves, or try to, because they feel cornered - often for very logical reasons (poverty, oppression, abuse/complex trauma). the adage that a poor person probably has more financial wisdom than a rich advice-giver holds true here, so don't immediately offer tips unless they've asked for them. sometimes, suicidality isn't connected to anything concrete, either, or a person's reasoning doesn't "make sense" (duh). if someone has the courage and trust to come to you with their feelings of suicidality, what they need most is someone to listen, to take them seriously, and to afford them the same personhood that they would have otherwise.

when people disclose thoughts of suicide, they take an immense risk in terms of their safety and credibility, and they do so because it is not possible to be a person alone. but, we also need to hold simultaneously that the individuals who do their best to support a loved one, but are not equipped to do so, are also not at fault for somehow "killing" them. suicide is incredibly complex, and suicide grief perhaps even moreso than other types of grief.

i also don't have concrete answers as to what to do about this conflict between our emotions around suicide - wanting to save a person we love, wanting them to stop hurting, being willing to do anything to keep them around - and imagining a world against and beyond the institution in all its permutations. but i know we will move toward it together through open conversation and trust and collective risk. much love and respect to you for asking such a challenging question during a heartbreaking time. <3

[nimiana]

Orin the Red, importance of burial and bodily autonomy or lack thereof

Orin doesn't leave a body behind. Her remains are similar to her armor - a bloody mess that doesn't even resemble a person. It's not even marked as Orin. You want to cast speak with the dead on her? Too bad.

Mutilation of a corpse and lack of proper burial is one of the biggest fears that's been haunting humanity and, as I believe, further reinforces the overall theme of Orin's lack of personhood. Since I have a degree in classics and I'm slightly insane about the similarities between House of Atreus and Bhaalfamily, let's dig into the topic from the perspective of Greek texts.

Starting with the Iliad. Thorough the story, despite gory and very detailed description of each death, battles end with a truce allowing both sides to gather their dead and give them a proper burial:

VII 380-7, tr. R. Fagles.

Hector's dying wish is for his body to be return to his family:

which Achilles immediately refuses - thus breaking the custom:

Op. cit. XXII 398-417.

See Andromache's lament at the sight of Achilles' mutilating Hector's corpse:

Op. cit. XXII 597-605.

Her speech paints a grim picture of rot, pointing to physical destruction of Hector's body and contrasting it with care and love he should be treated with.

Achilles' actions finally bring down divine intervention as Apollo urges other gods to stop his madness:

Op. cit. XXIV 39-51.

Achilles is likened to a lion - his lack of respect for burial rites is inhuman. Compassion (ἔλεος) and respect (αἰδώς) are a meter of one's humanity. What to we get from it? One of earliest known literary works underlines that even in the midst of brutal war, act of proper burial is sacred, regardless of the enmity between men. Deliberate mutialtion of corpse and denial of one's burial is horrific and impious. To quote Emily Vermeule:

Moving on to classical times. Before we go to Antigone, let's make a short stop for the Oresteia cycle. Twice is mentioned that Klytemnestra not only murdered Agamemnon, but also mutilated his corpse:

Sophokles, Elektra, 439-447, tr. H. Kitto.

Aeschylus, Libation Bearers, 439-443,. tr. A. Brown

Verb μασχαλίζειν is used in both instances, and, as Francis Dunn points out, evidence suggests that it adapts ritualistic language more fit to animal sacrifice to describe disfiguration of a corpse with intention of either shame towards the deceased and their family. Again we see that the idea of mutilation of a corpse is seen as something extreme and wrong, that should stir the audience with anger.

Now, Antigone (and Seven Agains Thebes). The story of brothers killing each other, resulting in one of them being denied the right to burial. Without getting into the debate of whethere state can dictate laws and natural versus cultural orders of things, let's see how the issue of leaving corpse unburied is described.

Aeschylus, Seven Against Thebes, 1294-1311, tr. H. Bacon

Op. cit. 1324-37

Op. cit. 1368-74

Firstly, lack of burial is an extension of punishment and secondly, grieving one's nearest kin is an universal, basic feeling.

Sophokles, Antigone, 961-79, tr. R. Gibbons, C. Segal

Antigone's speech points out one more important thing: burial must be carried out by one's nearest kin (to which I will come back later). She (and her sister) are the last remaining members of their family and the responsibility falls on them.

The last example is, chronologically speaking, the youngest, but nonetheless striking. In one of his partially surviving comedies (yeah, comedies), The Shield, Menander describes in detail a gory afermath of a battle from the perspective of a survivor who lost his master in a turmoil. As a result, a family is bereaved of an heir and left without his body to bury.

Tr. S. Ireland.

The play itself was written and staged during the period the Wars of the Diadochi. Menander described a grim scene - mass grave, mutilated bodies, lack of proper, individual burial - which was a well known reality for his audience and a nightmare that haunt them. The story ends with the young master alive and returned to his family, giving the viewers a sense of closure they couldn't have in reality.

Leaving the fiction behind, public funerals and annually paid honors to the deceased were also important for shaping collective memory. Families of men killed in combat had a chance to cherish memories of them and, in case of young children, to learn about their fathers.

Ever since the Homeric epics, the theme of immortality gained through collective memory is prevelant. Memory is shaped during funerary rites and cult surrounding the burial site, for which physical remains are necessary. As Gregory Nagy concludes:

And, lastly, despite funrary games being public and serving the purpose of a state, funeral itself was a family business and duty (hence the disruptions in funerary practice in the house of Atreus served to show how badly the family was messed up).

What does it mean for Orin?

Orin cannot be buried. As a result, she cannot be properly mourned and remembered. She is bereaved of this incredibly basic, primal right that no one should be denied.

If she can't be remembered, did she even exist? Was she a person?

Well, the game is inclined towards taking it from her.

Helena and Orin - mother and daughter, sister and sister - are trapped in a cycle of abuse even in death. Orin preserves Helena's body in her chambers and calls herself Helena's daughter. Where Orin's remains are gored to nothing, Helena's remains are forever embalmed in a mockery of burial.

Neither Durge, nor Orin (nor Helena!), are allowed to have a sense of personhood apart from being their father's vessels.

As someone with a bad enough relationship with my father, I am ar marvel at how the writers managed to show how abused children still yearn for their parents. It's not their affection.

The last words Orin hears before she is turned into slayer are taking her personhood away.

Off with her family tree, off with love her felt for Sarevok and any trace of affection she had for Helena, any last remaining emotion she felt about herself.

No more Orin. The fact that no body remains of her - not Orin, but Orin's Gore Pile - is the only possible consequence.

You cannot mourn murder and there's no Orin to mourn. As we've seen from cited above classical sources, mourning one's family is not only one's responsibility, it is the most basic, primal human need. How can you remember someone without burying them, without performing funerary rites from them? Every familial bond is destroyed here, every rite crooked. No one here can move on with their grief. Before Orin was murder, she was Orin, but how can anyone remember her now, with no proof that she even existed?

The last thing I have on my mind is this quote from Jean Anouilh's Antigone (tr. L. Galantiere):

She was my sister.

[the-empress-7]

I think I am almost done with this topic, it's too sad for words and the ghouls named Harry and Meghan have made my disgust for them reach new heights.

Before I go, they claim this network is the first of its kind. I really find it hard to believe. A quick google search will tell you otherwise. There are a ton of resources on cyberbullying, and there are some great support networks for bereaved parents.

The truth is there can never be enough support for parents who have had to deal with such tragedy, but let's not pretend that the ghouls have done something commendable.

All they did was retell a lie from four years ago, repackaged as altruism.

[findmeinthefallair]

It's me again. The therapist/illustrator who can't stop squeaking and screaming about her beloved son Hunter.

I've been thinking nonstop about him finding the terrible grimwalker graveyard, imagining what would be going through my mind if I were him. Sifting through whatever moments, dialogue and frames that I can find from the existing material, along with references outside of the show, to formulate what an offscreen scene would've been like.. (And seeing if I can find editable and salvageable enough backgrounds so I could perhaps even depict this scene one day)

A soul like him who not only wants to help others, but also acquire knowledge:

heading back here to see the graveyard:

You can't tell me that this wouldn't still be on his mind, and he's even anxious while saying this below, scratching his face a little:

Whether he follows up on this or not, also depends on how he looks back on being shown this:

And is he just going to go cold turkey and totally drop these leads he was pursuing in the episodes before the finale? :

Three things prompted me to finally write this post:

@polyhexian's and @ashanimus's analyses of Hunter's fight scenes in Hunting Palismen and Eclipse Lake (links here and here, they're really cool to read!!), based on their years of experience with martial arts. Reading those was a revelation to me because learning about how high Hunter's skill level is, how in touch with his body he is by default, portrayed so well thanks to the crew...that allows me to make far more educated guesses about his mental health in the early stages of the pre-epilogue gap of about 4 years. Because he is so used to high activity and being on high alert, no thanks to having C-PTSD.

Observing how light and free Hunter's expressions are, and how transformed his demeanor became, in the epilogue sequence. That transformation is an indication to me of the magnitude of grief which had to be transformed within him. To be put back together, in order to be so radiant, generous and self-actualized in the epilogue...imagine how much had to be deconstructed and further broken beforehand. He wouldn't have room to fill his life up with all that amazing newness if the old isn't emptied out first.

This psychoeducational video by my fave author, also a practicing therapist, who specializes in traumatic grief: link. Hearing her address the topic of entering the second year after a bereavement vs. the first year, was interesting. Definitely confirms to me that Hunter wouldn't have carved Waffles until past the 2nd year of navigating his bereavement.

In the years that pass before the epilogue, Hunter will not be able to understand why the efforts he puts into all the rebuilding work, coordinating and leading others, and trying to have fun - only cycle back to him experiencing a mix of a restlessness and emptiness in the deepest layer of his mind. It'll exhaust his energy bit by bit. I bet he's going to generally look as tired as depressed Luz does below, even if he's had an acceptable hours of sleep per night:

That restlessness will be an awful psychological itch that he'll be unable to scratch, caused by losing Flapjack and now also Belos. This is the same as what happened with his anger in For the Future, except Belos was still alive back then. It will be harder to understand and messier to navigate the bereavement this time round. It'll be something gnawing into his soul which I really think only professional help can heal, especially since the show promotes that it's okay to not be okay, and more than okay to seek professional help (Steve and Lilith's conversation in Edge of the World).

He will be trying to claw his way out of that C-PTSD pit, but he'll be aware deep down that he simply cannot reach any emotional high points for long, and something will be blocking his feelings of connection with his loved ones. He won't feel nearly as free and easy the way he used to be in the human realm:

Having a routine like he used to in the Castle, and moving around a lot, was what helped him survive. However, he won't have the awareness that the shift resulting from Belos passing away has been at such a fundamental level: to the point that those old, supposedly tried-and-true methods no longer serve him in any positive way. At least, not until his mental health will be back in better shape.

As he puts in more and more effort to escape that restless emptiness, getting annoyed at himself because he doesn't know what's going on...he'll use up the rest of his strength and eventually crash. That itch won't be solved by going back to overworking tendencies, and like how it is with addiction cycles, he would need some kind of fix for the deep restlessness within. The answer? Productivity to feel useful, which we have seen even in his efforts to fix damaged clothing and well, making stuff in general.

Where the grimwalker graveyard comes in is...once he hears news about its existence, he will stubbornly insist to want to help in investigating it, saying he has already read a bunch of books about them, and can be useful, etc. Worse, if his offer to help to investigate is refused, he will do what he did in Eclipse Lake. Go to the location anyway, to fill that deep void within.

Old habits die hard.

I don't know if he may hear from King (who he'll be seeing fairly often, I think!), The Collector or even Kikimora about it. Since they were the three characters who went all the way down there in King's Tide, and The Collector already knew about these horrors for literal centuries. King and The Collector are also still young kids! Will they have the sensitivity and awareness about breaking this news to Hunter?!

On the other hand, I don't know how the timing will be with Darius, Raine and Eberwolf..Darius will want to get serious about investigating his mentor's disappearance. Once the searching and scouring extends to the location of the Head of the Titan, they will find the evidence staring them in the face. If they want to scour every inch of the Isles, there's also a high chance they'll find the godforsaken grimwalker lab.

Worst of all, Darius would be aware by then of how much Hunter loves to help out in operations like this to be productive. At the same time, Darius's own grief will surface even more, I'm not sure he'll be able to hide that, and Hunter is highly observant. If Darius is trying to hide his own priority of finding closure re: his mentor, I think Hunter will sense that.

Therefore I wonder if this will happen except it's Hunter with Darius:

and then this poor beloved skrunkly son of mine, who so famously said these words at the beginning of his arc:

is probably going to get reckless, and endanger his mental health...not unlike moments like this:

by venturing to the graveyard, whether stealthily or accompanying the grownups, because he'll rationalize it as "getting closure" and once again "being useful". Remember how used he is to moving around so much and being active, combined with growing up isolated so that asking for help can still be a foreign concept to him. He would be anxious about grinding to a halt, and he'd want to be on the move instead.

He may demand to see the graveyard, and holy Titan I'm not sure any dilemma will be as tricky for Camila and Darius to navigate as this one. Because preventing him from seeing something he already knows exists is, in a very twisted way, also an unhelpful form of avoidance. Avoidance is a hallmark criterion for diagnosing both PTSD and C-PTSD.

How far do they go in protecting him from himself? Where do they draw that line? They might reach a compromise where Camila and Darius accompany him there. Once he sees it, it'll hit harder than this:

Letting him see it means his new parents would have to fall with him, in the sense that they follow him to that emotional place: but while he figuratively does not have a safety harness when falling into this deep dark hole, Camila and Darius are equipped with harnesses a.k.a. higher maturity, less of a trauma history, and some tools to help him get better, navigate the trauma, and manage his symptoms.

Camila will have the warmth and sensitivity to catch and meet him as he falls (she interacts with animals in her profession, who don't have the capacity for human language, in a similar way to how serious trauma can't even be put into words at times: it makes you voiceless). Darius's shared past living in the Castle and grieving over his mentor will help Hunter not feel as alone once he has seen these horrors.

And because his heart generally became more open to receiving love and support,

I doubt he'll close himself off almost completely, the way he did in the first two-thirds of For the Future (god, remember these deleted storyboards??):

It wouldn't surprise me if he weeps and panics as soon as he sees the graveyard, and his parents give him maximum support through that breakdown. As complicated as it would be for Camila and Darius to give in to his desire to see the graveyard, a response like this from him - a child seeking attachment with proper timing - is a good sign of growing into healthy attachment with parental figures.

It is an arguably better response than one of the hardest aspects of C-PTSD: where the outpouring of grief only happens after a delay, sometimes a significant delay, at very inconvenient or strange times. Hell...if I were Hunter, I'd probably want Camila and Darius to just hold me close in wordless silence for half an hour until my initial distress and shock passes.

If I use King - a child who is securely attached to Eda, who's definitely had a more stable upbringing - as a control experiment here, he could have the appropriate response immediately in Echoes of the Past and expressed his emotional needs clearly enough:

Whereas this is what Hunter has to now learn, at twice King's age, as he settles in with new parents who take care of him instead of mistreating him the way Belos did. Hell, I can't imagine what kind of Belos punishment awaited him if he cried to demand attachment.

(I need to use more King scenes as a comparison to Hunter's upbringing in my next metas! I realize this can make my explanations clearer)

Anyway, what may happen next after he can't unsee the graveyard is...Hunter will then swing to the other extreme of high activity. I.e. being passive, physically inactive and psychologically crashing into depression, which may translate into habits such as oversleeping (catching up on all that lost sleep...but at what cost?). Supposedly sliding deeper into the C-PTSD pit. A place from which he has to express the desire to seek the forms of help he needs.

Remember that this kid has only known extremes for most of his life. Until he settles in properly with his found family and attends therapy, he has no clear reference point for more balanced approaches in living.

The trauma he went through is a quadruple whammy for a 16-year-old who just survived growing up in a cult. It would be so much. I can't see him not falling into months of deep dark depression, as unfortunate as this sounds.

Grieving over Flapjack, grieving over Belos, over his childhood/upbringing, and now a grisly memory of his predecessors who didn't make it (to add to what he saw in Belos's mindscape). I simply cannot see him handling a load like this without a highly-equipped and sensitive professional, paired with his support network of family, friends and even possibly the wider community at times. Especially now that we've seen him in action during the epilogue.

The epilogue sequence would've had a different feel (and in my opinion, a not-so-good feel) for me if Dana had established that the grimwalker graveyard was still untouched after those 3.5-4 years and if Hunter never found out about it. Something like that is different compared to Dana mentioning in the recent Post-Hoot that in the he does not know about Caleb and Evelyn, or that he is related to the Clawthornes. Mysteries like the Clawthorne heritage can remain an eerie secret that only us in the audience know about, but I wouldn't feel comfy if this were the case for the graveyard as well.

To quote @idlescree's video essay about Hunter's death (link), the show's writers didn't pull any punches when it came to Hunter's development arc. Which means they had to take his story to the "categorically appropriate place for him to overcome" his greatest challenges.

Something tells me that with respect to the grimwalker graveyard and the avoidance theme in C-PTSD recovery, Hunter would've had to put in more work to confront a number of terrifying foes even beyond his Thanks to Them speech. One of which was the graveyard containing the remains of his predecessors.

PS: This is a spontaneous post which branches out from my giant post-finale meta (link) that I pinned to my blog, I suppose.

[uchihaharlot]

Heyooo, how are you, bro?

I hope your health is better now!

I have one innocent request.

"How would all Uchiha act if they finds out that you are self-harming?" (Mostly Madara pls😏)

I don't know if it's allowed topic... but yeah.

NSFW; TW self harm; minor mentions of injury; small prologue;

Before I go into this hc, I want to expressly tell anyone who reads this; whether we are mutuals or not. Whether you like my writing, like me or don’t or whatever.

My blog is a safe haven. You can openly message me, befriend me on discord (ask for my handle) or interact in the comments. If you feel like there are people who don’t care enough as they should. I just want to say that, I do. I don’t know who you are, what you’re doing. But I love you. Do not think for a single iota that your existence is merely coincidence, I’m not by any means a holier than thou individual and I’ve had my fair share of this isn’t worth living for: but trust me; it is and then some.

Madara:

Madara comes from an era where you put your best fist forward when things aren’t right. His level of resolve is steel cut and unwavering…but seeing you hurt yourself as an outlet, doesn’t sit well with Madara. And he’s into good old fashioned methods of healing…sorta. Expect to be tied up to his bed; not in the way you’d like either. For days he will keep you there, turning your body so you won’t get bed sores. Feeding you and letting you up to the toilet fa few times a day, and once at night if needed. All of this until you finally talk it out with him, and agree to find a better solution to figuring out how to express your feelings/pain. Insists on being around you every second of the day.

Obito:

I won’t lie, seeing you hurt yourself this way; it makes him cry. Do you want Obito to cry!? He’s inconsolable when you won’t even consider him as a vent source. And, while he won’t selfishly make it about him. He will openly admit most (ok all) of his faults in the hopes you would share your own. Whatever it is, Obito is sure that there are far better way to convey the message you want to share. Suffering in silence is only so fool proof.

Shisui:

No. No, no. No. Shisui one hundred percent won’t stand for it, and despite your protests of him almost catapulting himself off a cliff, he will tell you the error of his ways. Undoubtedly will make sure that you understand that even his own potential sacrifice would have been fruitless, and that you shouldn’t compare apples to oranges. And from there, Shisui will spend countless hours, days and nights proving to you just how sacred human life is. He inadvertently blames himself for some of this, you mentioning his almost demise opens old wounds and Shisui takes the opportunity for you both to grow and evolve. He wants to be a role model; not the reason you justify it.

Itachi:

In a way; he’s bereaved. This is highly unusual for you, and Itachi’s keen eyes (and new prescription glasses) catch a glimpse of your fresh wounds as he lightly snatches your arm. ‘Why would you do this?’ and ‘that’s not a logical reason to purposely harm yourself.’ Are a few of his stern words to you. Itachi is a no nonsense man, and he won’t tolerate you hurt yourself. If he was a true jerk, like he tricked many to believe for the longest time; he’d put you in Tsukuyomi and really give you something to think about. But instead, he inundated you day in and day out with his concern. Hoping that if you see one person who cares; you will eventually open up.

Sasuke:

Sasuke, traumatized by his older brother—not once but twice and more, lived in excruciating detail his own parents death, several times over. In the matter of three seconds; he understands your grief. Whatever you might be going through, I think when it comes to seeing other people suffering—especially as adult Sasuke, he can’t cope with it, and rarely did for himself. Which is sort of mkes him the besy person for this. He also doesn’t mince words and tells you straight out that you’re only causing yourself more harm in the long run. His method of cut and dry reality checks come in waves, when you think he’s not watching you, he’s right there. Don’t under estimate his capabilities. You’re on his radar and Sasuke won’t hesitate to use his techniques to get you talking; the sooner you find the root cause of your problems. The better, take it from someone who let their pain fester until it boiled over, it’s not worth it.

[strawbeerossi]

I seen that you write angst and I have an idea to share with you because of some personal things that I went through with my own family.

Do you think you can write something about fem!reader and Spencer finding out that one of their children has leukemia? Maybe with death involved to show how intricate this situation can affect families? I know it’s a very loaded topic so I completely understand if you don’t wanna do it but I think you’d master the topic beautifully based off of your angst writing. ❤️

I hope you’re doing alright today, Tay

First off, I’m so sorry for your loss, lovebug. I hope I do this justice and thank you for trusting me with this topic. My DMs are open if you ever need to talk. 🩵

And I'm good today, thank you, honey.

Vilomah: Bereaved Parents

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: After their son succumbs to his illness, the Reid parents have to navigate the grieving process together along with the team who are there to help.

Content Warning: Child death, leukemia, details about a hospital stay, extreme grief after loss, a child’s funeral, parental grief, mentions struggles with eating, spousal argument, lots of tears, descriptions of feeling empty and depression, the team is there for the Reids, spousal comfort, hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 3.3K

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I cried like a baby writing this. I hope I captured what you were looking for anon.

“Memories saturate my heart and the story of you spills from my eyes.��� – Grace Andren

There were many horrors that Spencer faced in his line of work; murderers, rapists, cannibals, the lot of it. He was also faced with grief more often than not, losing Maeve and Gideon being the two most notable times where he was forced to face the fact that everybody dies at some point, no matter who they are. 

That wasn’t enough to prepare him for the cruelest thing life had to throw at him. Benjamin was diagnosed with leukemia when he was just two months shy of four-years-old, more specifically it was Chronic Myeloid Leukemia. 

The first few months were seemingly okay. He was responding well with the treatment, his little body growing stronger with each passing day. There were plenty of ice cream days to celebrate whenever Ben could function as good as he could before the cancer. Not to mention all the gifts his aunt Penelope would send.

There was hope, so much hope that Y/N and Spencer didn’t let the thoughts of losing their son loom over their head.

That was until he got sick again, this time much worse. It happened suddenly, Ben went from eating some fruit snacks and watching a movie to losing consciousness and growing pale. Spencer never thought he could get home faster than what he did when he got the phone call. Emily sent him home immediately after hearing the news, telling him to get home to his family and that she would check in.

The next few weeks were spent in the hospital, the bright lights being harsh on the eyes of the sore eyes of the Reid parents. Y/N didn’t sleep but for a few hours a night, any small movement or sound from Ben or his machines waking her up. Spencer had grown to not sleep for that long, surviving off maybe an hour a night and ten cups of coffee to push forward the following morning.

However, the suffocating realization of the inevitable was starting to soak in. Spencer wanted nothing more than for his son to make a recovery but as a man of science, that hope dissipated as he noticed the signs. People got better before death, so whenever Ben was showing all the signs of surging, it was enough to kill Spencer.

Even after they had a conversation with their doctor, the woman telling them that surging typically happens one to two days before death, it was like Y/N wouldn’t take that. She would say that he was fine, that he was healing. 

It was denial. 

The day they lost him was the hardest of them all. The air was suffocating that morning, there being a bitter winter chill. Spencer had gone to work, as usual. There was a case, one about a man who was killing women who resembled his birth mother after she rejected him from her life. He was distracted, like any father on the verge of losing his child would be.

He knew he shouldn’t have gone to work but he was losing his mind, being overwhelmed with the knowledge of the inevitable. He liked to think that if he and Y/N didn’t discuss it, it wasn’t real. As a man of science, he knew the risks of believing something like that.

Still, he gave himself false hope. 

However, his heart stopped beating for a split second as he could feel his phone buzzing, the world freezing around him as he couldn’t hear the others around him. He knew what this call was. It took JJ shaking Spencer’s shoulders to snap him out of his thoughts. “I have to go.” 

Making it to the hospital, he dreaded going inside. However, he was running through the hospital doors not bothering to check in at the front desk as he was going as fast as his legs could carry him to reach his son’s hospital room. 

Judging by the heart wrenching screams of agony from his wife on the other side of the door, Spencer knew what to expect as his shaking hand was opening the hospital door. The sight of his wife cradling their son was enough to make him drop to his knees. 

The nurses and doctors looked at the small family, feeling the sting of heartache as they’d gotten to know the Reid’s over the past year.

Spencer’s legs were like jelly, the tears cascading his face being enough where he was sure he could fill up the hospital room in tears, enough to drown in. They were able to stay as long as they wanted to, even if it was hours later. 

“Do you have his blanket?” Y/N asked, voice raw from the screaming and uncontrollable sobbing from before. “I don’t want him to get cold..” She whispered, looking at their son who looked like he was sleeping against his father’s chest. “In the bag.” The words were shaky, the father keeping his son close while letting his forehead rest against Benjamin’s smaller one.

After they were laying the little boy down again, Y/N was slowly putting the blanket over the child before she was leaning down to kiss his forehead, which had begun to grow cold from the hours his parents took to say goodbye. The parents clung to one another as they were being forced to walk out of the hospital. 

After that, their life lost all its color. Waking up to an alarm rather than to a happy little boy jumping on their bed just wasn’t the same. There was no laughter in the house, no warmth. The atmosphere was just as cold as the weather outside. No matter how many days that Penelope came over with baskets filled with small goodies to try and lift their spirits, or how Luke would come by to check in and bring food over that the two parents just couldn’t stomach.

The day of the funeral was when every ounce of denial was fizzing away. Next came anger. Y/N was moving a bit slow, honestly not wanting to rush and be greeted with the sad looks of their friends and family. Spencer was ready twenty minutes prior, wanting to rush the grieving process and just accept everything immediately, even if it was impossible.

“Please hurry up.” His voice was laced with irritation, making wife look up from her shoes as she was playing with the strap. “I am hurrying..” She spoke softly, a frown on her face as she slowly got the shoes on. “You don’t have to have an attitude, by the way.” 

That was the start of something ugly.

“Well, you don’t have to take thirty years and expect Benji to walk through the door.” The words were deep cutting, very uncharacteristic of the loving man she married.The words had his wife stunned in place, her mouth falling open. “You don’t have to be an asshole and keep reminding me of where we are going.” She spat, moving to brush her hair back before standing.

“You can’t keep acting like things are going to change. He’s gone, Y/N. No matter how bad we want him back, we will never get him back.” They were growing angry at one another at the wrong time. Before the yelling could start, there was a soft knock on the door. With a soft sigh, Spencer was turning around and heading to the sound of the soft knocking. 

The sight behind the door was enough to make his heart clench. There was Derek, the man offering a sad smile. “Hey, kid. I came to pick you two up. How’s the missus doing?” He asked, chuckling as Spencer was rushing to tightly hug his best friend, his hand slowly patting the younger male’s back. “Hi Derek.” Y/N offered a weak smile once she was closing the bedroom door. 

“Hey mama.” His voice was soft and careful, heading over to wrap his arms around the woman before kissing her cheek. “I was thinking that after everything, we could all go out to lunch.” He wasn’t stupid, he could tell that the two parents were neglecting themselves, he’d talked to the team. 

This was a sensitive time, so he understood. However, he wasn’t going to sit idly by either. He’d be damned if he let them both slowly waste away. Benjamin sure as hell wouldn’t have wanted that. 

“I don’t know, Derek. I don’t think I can deal with everyone looking at us with pity. You know how many people have told me that they hugged their babies tighter because of this situation? It hurts. Not nearly as helpful as people think..” The woman spoke while slowly rubbing her face.

“It’ll just be us. The team, our family.” He attempted to coax both parents, the two not being able to get out of it in the end.

The three eventually made it to the graveyard where they were confronting the one thing that they didn’t want to face. The Reids were approaching the plot that they’d purchased for the family, Y/N having to collect herself at the sight of the coffin waiting by the open plot. 

“There you two are,” Penelope looked like she’d been sobbing already, her arms wrapping tightly around both parents. That was where the floodgates broke, both of them tightly clutching onto the blonde enough to suffocate her. 

The ceremony was beautiful, despite the flood of tears and pain deep in the chests of all that were closest to the child who they were laying to rest. It was something honorable, Benji even having his uncle Aaron there to say a final goodbye. Even surrounded by love, there was still an emptiness, a void that would never be filled. 

What came next made things worse, the parents having to say goodbye as soon as the casket was being lowered in its plot, Y/N and Spencer wrapped up in one another’s embrace while their hands were clutching each other’s clothing. The wife was letting her head rest against her husband’s shoulder, their tears soaking one another’s clothes and hair.

It was just them now, with the ghost of their sweet angel who would keep a watchful eye over his parents, whether they knew it or not.

Dave was approaching the parents, his hand resting on Spencer’s shoulder as he cleared his throat to catch their attention. “I want you both to know that I will be here for you both, always.” David Rossi, the father of the team, it seemed. As well as being uncle Dave to all the kids, Benji included. 

“I heard that you two agreed to come to lunch.” He spoke softly, eliciting a small smile from Y/N. “We are.” She said softly, truly unable to say no to him. “We are having it in my backyard. Why don’t you two ride with me?” He suggested, making both Spencer and his wife look at one another.

They weren't getting out of this, so they complied and followed behind David.

The only problem was that so many amazing things happened in that backyard, Benji’s baby shower being one of them.

“Baby Reid is getting so big,” JJ gushed, her hand on Y/N’s swollen bump as the woman laughed in content. “Isn’t he? He’s also been kicking the hell out of my ribs, I feel like he's punishing me.” Y/N joked.

Finding out that she was pregnant was the best thing that ever happened. Of course, there were jokes of Spencer and Y/N not even waiting a year after they got married before she was already pregnant.

It was funny, really. Spencer was highly convinced that the baby was conceived on the first week of their honeymoon, the two being a little too into that talk while they were in the middle of sex, the filthy words of her being swollen with his baby becoming literal.

Diana was thrilled the moment that she saw her son and his wife on one of their visits, the woman being more thrilled at the prospect of her little Spencer having a child of his own. She would say that she knew before they even told her. 

“Mothers always know, Spencer. We are animals, we can feel things.” Were her exact words, something that she said Y/N would understand one day.

“Bella!” David smiled, the term of endearment being a newer one that he used for Y/N after the pregnancy, something about how she looked gorgeous because she was glowing. It was sweet, she had to admit it. “Hi, David.” Y/N grinned, her arms wrapping around the older man in a hug before she was pulling away. “You and Penelope did a beautiful job, by the way!”

Almost as if she were summoned, the bubbly blonde was hurrying over to flash a smile. “There you are my gorgeous girl! How are you feeling?” She asked, her hand cautiously rubbing her baby bump once Y/N gave her the okay.

“I’m doing good, actually. This boy is gonna be the death of me though. I was craving dirt the other day.” Her nose crinkled. “Weirdness. However, this baby is a Reid so that’ll explain it better than anything else.” Penelope joked. 

“It’s actually more normal than you might think. One theory links pica cravings to iron deficiencies. Another theory suggests these cravings develop as an adaptive response to the way the immune system changes during pregnancy.” Spencer smiled while letting his arms wrap around his wife from behind, his lips pressing a kiss to her cheek before his hands were coming underneath the heavy bump, lifting it up gently to take some of the pain from his wife’s back.

It was enough to make the woman sigh of relief as her head was tilted back against his shoulder. “You are such a lifesaver.” She breathed while briefly closing her eyes. 

Spencer was attentive and loving, paying attention to her much more after the pregnancy was discovered.

This was a dream.

This was a nightmare, the memories rushing back to Y/N as she was walking into the backyard where all those sweet memories lived. It was emotionally draining, so much so that her hand was reaching aimlessly for Spencer’s.

As soon as her husband realized what she was doing, he was slowly approaching his wife and letting his hand tightly grip onto hers. He didn’t realize how bad they needed this, to have a reminder that they still had each other. He figured it was implied but this made a bit of weight lift off his chest. 

“I know it may be a bit hard to laugh right now,” Penelope began as she was offering a smile. “But I know how much Benji used to love having dinner with all of us, no matter where we went.” She began, making a soft, sad smile spreading across Y/N’s face. 

“So, I figured that I would honor one of my favorite godson’s in the best way possible. Instead of boring adult food, I made extra sure to get the best of the best.” Being a four-year-old, Benjamin was just as picky as the next kid. 

“Don’t tell me,” Spencer began, looking over as she was happily showing off the meal she had catered. It consisted of all the essential food groups of a young child; chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and french fries. 

Hank, Michael, Henry, the Simmons children and Jack were all over the idea of that. The adults, though, couldn’t help the soft laughter. “Benji would definitely approve.” Y/N offered a soft smile, shaking her head fondly. “Even up until the end, he had to have his nuggets.” Spencer added, a few tears springing up in his eyes at the pleasant memory, even in the darkest time of their lives.

“I don’t want that..” Benjamin wrinkled his nose as he was pushing away the soup that the hospital was giving him, making Spencer look up from his book. “It’s good for you, Benji. Try it.” He urged on, a smile as he put the book down after finding his bookmark. 

“Daddy, no. It’s yucky. It smells yucky.” He continued on, the four year old running the spoon through the bowl.

Like his mother, he was dramatic about it, gagging at the mere thought of eating what he was given. “I want chicken nuggets.” He whined out, now looking at his mother, who was sighing in content. 

“Take a few bites and try it! If you try it and you don’t like it, I’ll go get you some nuggets. Sounds fair?” She asked, keeping the stern tone yet offering a sweet smile, knowing damn well that he’d get his way in the end anyway. Even if he liked the soup.

“I’ll try it but I might be sick, mama.” He warned, looking at the broth with vegetables before he was taking a good amount on the spoon.

He eyed it over before pushing it into his mouth. Both parents couldn’t help the laughter falling from their lips as Benji pulled a face, looking offended he was even made to try it.

“Blegh! Nasty!” The animated child was pushing the tray table away as Y/N was already getting up to grab her keys. “I’m going! I’m going! Make sure that you watch your daddy, you know he likes getting into too much trouble.” 

As everyone had a plate in front of them, everyone was looking at the Reids, expectant of them to get up. Derek was the one who was already making two plates before placing them down in front of the two. “There you are pretty boy and pretty girl, no need to get up.” He knew what he was doing.

Even with the lack of appetite, Y/N was slowly picking up her fork before collecting a bit of the mac and cheese on her fork, slowly moving to push the fork in her mouth. She didn’t realize just how hungry she was before that bite. Of course, barely eating for two weeks would do that to you.

Spencer seemed to be on the same page, the two unknowingly eating like they hadn’t eaten in years. The group said nothing about it, although they shared collective glances and their eyes were glistening over with relief. 

They were eating enough to actually keep themselves alive, to keep themselves from falling ill and being stuck in the hospital being fed through IVs. After all they went through, they didn’t need to be in another hospital for a long time.

The rest of the day was spent with their family rather than them being locked up at home, real smiles gracing their features for the first time in forever. Being together in a quiet home was taking a huge hit at their mental health. 

This was what they needed. Their full support system. 

It was later on in the evening before Y/N and Spencer had gotten home, the two ordering takeout for dinner whenever they arrived at home. The wife was looking over the picture of their family that she had hanging up in the kitchen, a soft smile on her face. He looked so peaceful today, didn’t he?” She asked, her voice soft.

“No more pain, no more weakness.. Just peaceful.” Spencer added on, looking up from his hands. “Y/N.. I’m sorry about what I said earlier. It was horrible to say,” He said as his wife was offering a gentle smile. “I understand. It’s hard right now but.. Spencer, I love you. With every fiber of my being. Please remember that.”

It was what he needed to hear, his head nodding. “I know. I love you so much, baby. Thank you. I’m here for you, even if you just need to cry and be taken care of.” The taller man was standing up before heading over to tightly hug his wife. “You’re so strong. So fucking strong.” He spoke softly while kissing the top of her head. 

All they needed to power through this together was each other, they would make it through this for Benji over all else. It was what he would've wanted , their love to persevere. 

[setarmare]

Need a fic of Tally and Cary starting an anonymous agony aunt column where they give advice to all bereaved citizens of Skyrim.

Featuring:

Occupying the Proudspire Manor balcony 24/7 to read letters and bitch over the terrible relationships ("-this idiot is OBVIOUSLY not interested in the ex, I've never seen a flag more red than when we marched on Cyrodiil in the Great War!" "Tally, don't say that in the middle of Solitude-")

Some advice-seekers seeming suspiciously familiar ("This 'Romantic of Solitude' pining for his strong independent colleague... isn't this Falk Firebeard?")

Surprising the growing readerbase with very deep and touching advice on topics of family, self-confidence, and loneliness, since the two lads can relate.

Shrieks in the middle of the night. People start to whisper about the ghost inhabiting Proudspire Manor... it's just the lads getting the GOOD tea.

Caryalind: *LOUD gasp* Taliesin, sitting up from bed with cucumber slices falling from his eyes: "What?!" Cary, waving around a letter: "Nazeem's wife wants a divorce!"

DB wondering why there are so many letters to Proudspire Manor all of a sudden. They don't know about the side hustle.

Guest aunt Nebby! A lot of readers actually prefer his snarky, blunt advice. It certainly resonates with the Nord way of things.

Nebarra: "If he tells you what to do with your own money one more time, tell HIM what to do with his LACK of money and kick him out the house."

Xelzaz figures it out a good while into the bit. He connected the dots between the sudden popularity of this advice column and the piles of letters in Cary's room. He prefers to read the letters and be a sounding board for Tally and Cary instead of publishing his own advice.

He'll definitely share some quick cooking tips though. Some people think that The Gourmet is a contributor to the column; it's just Xelzaz.

Just Tally, Cary, Nebs, and Xelzaz on the Proudspire balcony, popping open Alto Wine and bonding over shitty relationship advice.

[witchpassing]

{ welcome! may this one take your coat? }

this one is a doll, and its name is petrichor. while that word means many things to many of its sisters, to this one it signifies its nature as beloved and eternal servant to its master. this page is a quiet, personal space for it to engage with like-minded beings and publish its fiction work, much of it empty spaces or adjacent thereto. a sister account is maintained for the same purpose on cohost under the username apothecaric. the askbox is kept open and interaction is welcome. you are a valued guest here, and this one humbly hopes that you will enjoy your stay.

disclaimer: some content appearing on this blog will be nsfw. please do not follow or interact if you are below the age of eighteen. thank you.

{ tag list }

this one's writing - original fiction, mostly ES, mostly short. an ongoing masterlist of this one's writing may be found below.

journal - personal posts, mainly relating to this one's relationship with its master.

scrapbook - original, but neither autobiographical nor serious enough to fall into the above categories.

enquiries - correspondence.

offerings - gifts received from like-minded creatures.

the following topics also have dedicated tags: dolls, maids, machines, pilots, and witches. posts falling into none of the above categories are tagged as unsorted.

{ fiction index }

an intervention {part i} {part ii} {part iii} - a three-chapter work about a bereaved woman retrieving her lover from the clutches of a witch. things do not go to plan.

red heather {x} - the morning after a one-night stand between a doe and a wolf.

pennyroyal {x} - witchling hickory is called upon to extricate her familiar from a classmate's teeth.

interview_3ac {x} - an anonymised handler goes on the record about how she got into her current line of work.

misericorde & anise {x} - misericorde is not a good doll; she wants things she is not supposed to, and she wants anise to give them to her.

for a kinder lord {x} - a knight, dying in the arms of a heretic, hears a gentle whisper of what is to become of her.

crows {x} - earnest, shy sistenzca is sick, sick with crows, and terribly sorry about it.

the clockmaker {x} {x} - an unlicensed doll maintenance specialist plies her trade.

inchoate {x} - a doll, plagued by fever-dreams of limitless power, begs to be fixed.

my lord has many tails {x} - the reflection of a handmaiden upon her terrible mistress.

communication {x} - several weeks into the deconditioning process, ex-pilot rook starts to talk about what she wants.

like breathing {x} - a hacker and their newly subverted humanoid weapon come to an understanding about the balance of power between them.

entr'acte {x} - a servant waits for its lady to return home.

a very impressive beast {x} - on the merits of a mistress who is sometimes a large dog.

miniatures {mima} {on minute-dolls} {wheels within wheels} {vignette (two figures)} - work too short for a blurb to be appropriate. sweet-bitter fragments.

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hi there! This is a question, not relating to your recent topic.

Do you have any recommendations of blog/website/anything (if possible not TikTok) of fashion centered on Black designers and models? I'm specifically interested in street fashion I think it's called. As in, fashion that people wear everyday instead of runway models.

I'm following the work of Wisdom Kaye on Instagram, so I'm hoping to find more artists like that :)

Thanks!

Well, she's still on bereavement right now, but @modelsof-color has a page that is chock full of Black models and photographers, though hers is more professional and runway looks. @nyc-looks also has a lot of Black fashion designers and models coming up with unique looks as well.

But I'll happily take suggestions on this one as well.

[hisgrief]

independent and selective writing blog for GAZ JAMES TURNER, an original werewolf based in my own lore. dark, triggering topics ahead. 21+ only. WRITTEN BY YAUTJA. THEY/THEM. 30+.

A STUDY IN: grief. loss. spousal bereavement. body horror. the beast within. survivor’s guilt. moving on. acceptance. nightmares. smiling to hide the pain, and  dismantling toxic masculinity.

| CARRD |

[cavorta]

October 11, 2024 Book Review „Witch in Darkness: Magick for Tough Times, Bad Days and Moments of Total Catastrophe“ by Kelly-Ann Maddox

The blurb: The long-awaited follow-up to Kelly-Ann Maddox’s bestselling Rebel Witch is here … Witch in Darkness explores loss, fear, grief and pain through the magickal lens Guiding the reader through the concept of the craft as a life-saving, soul-nurturing practice for dark times, this book overflows with inspiration and compassion for witches in difficulty. The raw and honest tone peels back the surface layers of witchcraft’s meaning and power, inviting the reader to use magick, ritual and readings to heal and grow. When disaster strikes, a magickal practitioner has endless tools to help them build strength and hope, and face the seemingly impossible. Witch is Darkness is packed with nourishing wisdom, including advice on:

Embracing an imperfect practice 

Cleansing, grounding and shielding during tough times 

Witching through extremes Identifying high-risk and low-risk practices 

Energy management and low-maintenance magick 

Dealing with loss, grief and despair using witchcraft 

Magick and ritual for conflicts, dramas and relationship breakdowns 

Addressing mental and physical issues from the witchcraft perspective 

The book includes easy-to-follow, step-by-step instructions to make magickal action easier to execute. Discover tarot spread designs, journal prompts, words of power and excellent suggestions for shifting your mindset, alongside a great Q&A segment to clear up confusions and help you get unstuck. Spiritual counsellor and witchcraft mentor Kelly-Ann Maddox has a decade’s experience in the magickal space, offering workshops, one-to-one sessions and hundreds of informative videos on her popular YouTube channel. In this book, she draws on countless conversations with witches from all walks of life, as well as her own life journey through mental health breakdowns, struggles with self-harm and eating disorders, and heart-breaking bereavement.

Review

In my opinion, this is a much needed book for the witchcraft community. There are a few witchcraft books available about witching with chronic illnesses or disabilities, or how to deal with grief and loss from a pagan or witchcraft perspective. All of these have been published quite recently.

But this book is not limited to these topics, the author writes about several more, like dysfunctional or toxic relationships, addictions and how to support yourself and others when you do activism for social justice or other causes. In most of the chapters, there are ideas for ritual and spells, writing prompts, words of power and also several ideas for readings of Tarot or Oracle cards. The author encourages readers to tweak and adapt spells as they see fit. I have tried this with one of the spells and it went well. I also had ideas how to adapt another one and I surely will revisit this book from time to time.

Kelly-Ann Maddox writes, “You do not serve the craft; it is the craft that serves you” (p. 333). In my understanding, this opens up lots of new possibilities when thinking about doing witchcraft even if you are down in the dumps so to speak, or feel scared or helpless or are stressed-out. Kelly-Ann explains about what low-risk and high-risk witchcraft activities are and gives suggestions which to pursue in different situations and which better not.

She writes, „Witchcraft is a collection of tools for surviving and thriving. It is not a judgemental overseer that ascertains your worthiness to access it based on how much you seem to have your life together“ (p. 334) and „witchcraft is a resource, not a test“ (p. 334)

On a personal note, over the past years, I have quite often felt in a spiritual slump for weeks and felt like witchcraft was not longer easily available for me. I wish this book would already have been available back then.

The author has a unique and a bit eclectic witchcraft style, she doesn’t follow a specific tradition. If you want to learn about how to deal with your problem following a magickal tradition, this book is not a good choice I guess. For me, as a very eclectic witch, it’s really interesting.

[calfrxca]

[JUDGEMENT]

no way, cal returns from his art hiatus to post gay people and returns from hiatus for good :00 ??? no- im. im still on hiatus, my escapades to vatican city and specifically st peter's basillica last month just caused some brainworms LMFAO, i have. way too much to say about this specific piece and how my reading of the illiad and the war that killed achilles made it so much stronger

also before you ask, yes this is based on michelangelo's pietà in the vatican, dont even TRY to @ me

my yappings aside

ordo (the guy with the fuckass pipe in his chest) belongs to @gemsbokk !!!

meanings and yappings regarding this piece below the cut as usual, i dont expect anyone to read this, i just need to get this out or i'll actually EXPLODE

(upright) improvement, forgiveness, change of perspectives, absolution and rebirth

(reversed) oppression, lack of self awareness, failure, repeated mistakes, and self loathing

generally, in roman mythos as a whole, there's this whole idea that cannibalism, incest, murder, whatever, doesnt apply to the olympians because of their status as "The Divine" and any mortal who tries to do the same will be met with divine punishment from said olympians [many times, a mortal's fatal flaw is hubris, see achilles who believed he was immortal and a god because of how successful he was on the battlefield; icarus who flew too close to the sun and died, a literal modern day saying in the west for man's own hubris, etc] and if i remember correctly, some renditions of the illiad depict the myceaneans as cannibals. the war that killed achilles specifically writes:

"In the apocryphal Acts of Andres (dating to the 3rd century A.D.), there is 'a city of the cannibals,' which is identified as Myrmidon; it is possible that this account taps into some more ancient, and savage, lost tradition."

and my recent escapades to the roman colosseum revealed that the romans regularly consumed blood because they believed it had health benefits to it and they thought it cured epilepsy [paper written by the NBCI on this topic]; is there any historical basis proving that the consumption of blood actually had health benefits? no clue, nor do i really feel like checking these exact logistics at the moment (but if anyone does, feel free to @ me about it, i love weird historical shit like this), the actual effects behind it are moot, what's relevant here is the idea

the idea of consumption and cannibalism turning one into a god have the same effects as how, in greek mythos, the gods were often depicted engaging in acts such as incest, cannibalism, whatever, acts that we as mortals define as "immoral" and "unjust," not only just to seperate them from humans but also show that morals are a very fickle, human thing

anyways, my point here is there's something so raw about tacet losing it to the point he's not even just eating mechanical parts, but he's also eating organic parts, see: organic hearts, guts, kidneys, the like

"No matter how many men you eat boy, you will not be a god."

i mean tacet himself masks his desperation for touch and sensuality with literal blood and guts, which then creates a feedback loop of violence and death, which is a reoccurring theme in greek tragedies; specifically observed and mentioned in emily wilson's translation of the illiad:

"When a man is slain in times of peace, families can gain partial compensation for their loss by exacting a blood-price from the killer. Killers may also be forced to leave the community and take refuge elsewhere, as Patroclus did as a boy after he accidentally killed another boy in an argument over a game; he was adopted by his cousin Peleus and raised beside Achilles, like an older brother. In such cases, the killer's loss of his original home comforts the family in their need for vengeance. But in war, killers recognize no binding obligation to compensate the families of their victims. The only way the bereaved can recoup their losses is to kill the killer—whose comrades will demand vengeance in their turn. Killing begets killing, death begets death, and every loss of life generates further loss of life."

another instance is observed in the emily wilson translation here:

"When it is too late to save a warrior's life, friends and kinsmen may be able at least to save his weapons and his armor. If those have been stripped, the companions of the dead man may at least save his body."

there's a certain trope found in media, especially queer media where cannibalism and consumption are a common metaphor for love (see hannibal and interview with a vampire), and considering their dynamic was written in the midst of a hannibal brainrot im not exactly surprised there's a lot of similarities here

namely, tacet was a cannibalism from the start, starting drinking energon just as a more cost and time efficient way to staying fueled, but it turned into an addiction and eventually was lauded as something holy (there's something to be said here about the christian idea of wine and crackers being symbols of christ's blood and body; communion, the eucharist, whatever); i cant remember if this was canon or not so don't quote me on this

but at some point, tacet convinced ordo to try cannibalism as well, just to "see what would happen," went well enough until ordo got the fuckass pipe in his chest; something something play on the idea of cannibalism is only reserved for the divine; ordo died and tacet lost ordo

queer tragedy is very much a phenomenon found in greek and roman mythos, and well. this feels like it fits

alright im done yapping for now, my head hurts now, thanks for listening to my ted talk

here's some pics from rome and venice as a thanks LMFAO

i'll add image IDs to these once my headache goes away I PROMISE

[mwolf0epsilon]

Achilles, Come Down

Summary: Fives knows there are limits to what he can and can't do, which is what ultimately makes him a good man.

Warning: Mentions of attempted suicide!

[Something to wrap up both Fleeting Memory and Is it Really Self-Hatred When You're No Longer You?. With how I set up the previous drabbles, it was only inevitable that something really bad had to happen before things could get any better. Thankfully, Fives is nothing if not a good brother that understands when he's severely outgunned.]

---

Ultimately, it's both denial and the heavy weight of remorse that sends things careening into the precipice of disaster.

Of course Fives had known right off the bat that things were never going to be the same once he'd rescued Tup, '22 and '16 (mostly because at the time of said rescue, he was considered a fugitive of the law). But never could he have foretold things going quite as badly as they unfortunately did...

Because not even ARC training could throw you for such a curve-ball.

It especially hadn't prepared him or his fellow troopers for an issue where things couldn't be resolved with some sound logic, quick thinking, and (if push come to shove) a little bit of brute force. But, at the very least, Fives was more than capable of recognizing when he was outmatched.

You wouldn't be able to tell if you knew of him only through whatever it was his brothers sang about him in 79's, at the peak of the night, when their courage was high and the pain of speaking of Umbara was more than dulled.

He'd risked it all then. He'd risked even more when he'd found out about the chips. Hells he would risk what little remained once he became a PI... But, as confident as he was in his own abilities, Fives wasn't stupid enough to think he was immortal. Or, at the very least, he wasn't incapable of learning from his mistakes.

The warehouse had been enough of a close call.

Sure being drugged out of his mind could excuse the incident a little, but he'd still made a terrible decision that he'd only escaped from because Fox had quite literally been dying when he'd taken the shot.

From there on out, he vowed to play it safer. Which is what he'd decided to do when things with Tup and '22 finally came to a head.

In hindsight, he should have done something the moment he realized Tup was clinging to the past too tightly. The younger trooper so afraid of his now faulty memory, that he'd latched onto '22 and refused to see anyone but Dogma. Refused to acknowledge that what he was doing was extremely harmful to both himself, and the brother he was trying to reshape into the memory of a lost vod.

Regretfully, Fives hadn't acted immediately. Had turned a blind eye and endured long nights of whispered secrets that broke his heart in twain. Hoped that his own understanding of such all-consuming loss, would give him the power to help Tup come to terms with this whole ordeal in some way...

What he'd ended up doing was enabling Tup into becoming hyper-fixated on the sense of loss. Let him reminisce so much about Dogma, that soon enough that was all that the bereaved man could talk about at all. And the more he pushed this topic, the more Fives noticed '22's gaze darken whenever he was in their company. The distance between them on the couch during his accompanied study sessions, growing more lengthy and noticeable by the day...

And then when Echo had been found, things had only gotten worse.

Tup stopped talking to him. Stopped confiding as much as he used to. Eyes equal parts sad and angry as he watched the two of them from afar. He was no Jedi, but Fives could practically sense the growing jealousy in his vod'ika... Just as he could sense the resentment building up in '22.

He'd been at a loss for what to do. Caught up between wanting to watch over his recovering twin, studying to help the vode, and trying to resolve the rising tension between Tup and '22. There was a huge problem, and Fives hadn't known how to fix it...

So he found someone that could.

The call to Cody came at a stupidly lucky time.

While Fives spent most of his days on Coruscant resting and studying, the commander still spent his out in the frontlines with general Kenobi and his men. Tying up loose ends that not even the defeat of Palpatine could quite bring a conclusion to (at least not a speedy one).

When he'd finally gotten a hold of the man, he'd practically just awoken from a post-landing nap, and he'd graciously let Fives explain the situation to him over comms while he made himself a caf.

If anyone could offer some sympathy over this impromptu venting session, it was certainly Cody. He'd taken in '16 after Fives had brought him, Tup and '22 to Coruscant. Said something along the lines of feeling personally responsible for him, and that the man's Bean deserved to know what happened to him in the end...

Last he'd checked with Kix (the medics's network often kept a tight lip on this sort of thing, but they weren't opposed to passing on positive news when they could), '16 was apparently thriving. The 212th's medical team had reported a considerable decrease in self-destructive behavior.

And the ARC had been just about to ask for advice on how to improve things for '22 when all hell broke loose.

Tup Bean had run to him screaming. Wailing and just about tripping himself up, as he unintentionally lost control of his little body which flopped like wet spaghetti as it extended and twisted in odd spirally shapes. Completely bent out of shape. Something had gone wrong and the little guy had come to him for help.

Fives only managed to understand "Two Two" and "Roof" before he found himself sprinting and asking the Commander for backup.

Unfortunate as it was to admit, it wouldn't be the first time that a brother had done something like this. He just hadn't thought '22 was so unhappy that he'd choose to end his own life. He could have never imagined things had been at that low of a point for him.

And perhaps that was a fault in himself that he desperately needed to sort out once he was sure no one ended up dead on his watch.

When he got to the roof, Cody was already there. The 212th had the upper-floors of the barracks to themselves on the north wing of the GAR headquarters. It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if he'd simply jumped out of an open window and climbed all the way to the south wing in an impressive display of physical prowess.

Fives watched them quietly from the stairs, ready to act if need be (although he doubted anything was going to happen from that point onward). Mostly, he just stood there and felt useless as he watched the commander speak to '22 in a way none of the 501st had.

With his own personal experience of what it was the younger man was going through.

Once upon a time he'd been Coh, the little CC terror that had been so difficult to handle that the Kaminoans had tried to do something about it. Once upon a time his own brothers and refused to engage with him, because he wasn't Coh anymore and they hadn't know how to deal with that.

He understood how much it hurt for someone to look at him, while clearly searching for someone else.

Not too far from the two sat their respective beans. DB looked frazzled as he watched the two troopers interact, while Coh fussed over him like a mother tooka fussed over its young. Nipping at stray strands of hair and smoothing them back over, with a few quick licks and a few pats with his nubs.

In the last couple of weeks DB had grown more aggressive towards Tup. Biting at his fingers in warning and putting himself in between the two as much as he could with his diminutive little body.

He had also sat on Fives's datapads and hardcovers. Staring up expectantly while trying to stall his reading. Had clearly seemed to expect better of him and everyone else in regards to the whole situation, and shown that he was still more than capable of holding a grudge against anyone that so much as looked at '22 the wrong way.

Despite the loss of his trooper (of their deep connection) and the changes it had caused in him, DB had still done what he thought was best for '22's sake. Extending kindness and never once asking for anything in return. Hells, the little guy still vanished into the vents instead of sticking too close to his new shaky friend.

Fives should have known that the little guy was trying to show them how to do right by their brother. Show them that, even in the face of pain as strong as the loss of a loved one, that respecting the fact he and Dogma were different people was ultimately the right thing to do. Something they'd failed to do repeatedly until it finally pushed him over the brink.

And now there was just no going back.

Perhaps among the 212th there might be a chance for '22 to get back on his feet. The support network that would be available to him did, after all, have at least one person that had first-hand experience with just how hard it was to rebuild one's self after a recon. And '16's presence and progress might reassure '22 that he wouldn't just be cast aside and left to rot. That he wouldn't be stuck listening to others wishing so terribly loudly for the impossible. That he wasn't a burden or a lost cause.

Ultimately, Fives decides it's the better option. So he doesn't protest when '22 agrees to go with Cody. He also understands perfectly when the shaky vod declines to give Tup a chance to apologize or say goodbye. After what transpired, it just wasn't a good idea for them to see each other for a while. Not while they were both in such a vulnerable state...

Not that explaining that to Tup after Fives rescued him from a locked closet would be any easier. If anything, his vod'ika might refuse to talk to him for some time. But that was fine. Tup might need some time to actually think about some things instead of remaining in denial and chasing after a ghost.

That said... He might need to have a word with the medics and push for some measures to be put in place. They'd gotten comfortable going into the Jedi Halls of Healing recently. Maybe they knew a mind-healer that specialized in this sort of thing?

The long-haired trooper would certainly benefit from something like that.

[justforbooks]

Fleur Adcock

One of the leading New Zealand and British poets of her generation who was fascinated by the past and ancestral voices

Fleur Adcock, who has died aged 90, was one of the best loved and most esteemed poets in Britain and New Zealand. The full span of her work from 1960 until 2024 was published earlier this year in a 600-page volume of collected poems to coincide with her 90th birthday. She also translated Latin and Romanian verse, and edited The Oxford Book of Contemporary New Zealand Poetry (1982) and The Faber Book of Twentieth Century Women’s Poetry (1987).

Fleur’s deceptively relaxed conversational style is often barbed with an oblique take on reality. As the poet laureate Carol Ann Duffy said: “The sharper edge of her talent is encountered like a razor blade in a peach.”

Her poetry deals with life’s surprises and oddities, the unexpected or unexplained that can cut the ground from beneath your feet. Take the conceit of Regression, a poem from 1967: “All the flowers have gone back into the ground.” What appears familiar and recognisable becomes uncannily different as in dreams or nightmares.

In the same way Fleur probes the everyday with psychological accuracy. This appears in even her most tender poems, such as On a Son Returned to New Zealand (1971), about her first-born son, on his way home to his father: full of motherly pride in the first two lines – “He is my green branch growing in a green plantation. / He is my first invention” – she acknowledges the pain of parting with the wry comment, “No one can be in two places at once”.

Yet she is equally adept at melodrama: the awful realisation of the mistakes one has made, that haunt us in the middle of the night, occurs in Things (1979) when, at 5am: “All the worse things come stalking in / and stand icily about the bed looking worse and worse and worse”.

Fleur not only wrote about children, lovers, family relations, and increasingly, as she got older, her ancestors, but her world of affections, as the Australian poet Peter Porter called it, extends to animals both mythical and real, insects and creatures. In her precise observation, even the most insignificant or repellent win her admiration.

Slugs coupling “glide about, / silently undulating: two / slugs in a circle, tail to snout” and she exults at their climax: “they’ve dressed themselves in a cloud of foam, / a frothy veil for love-in-a-mist”.

In the groundswell of women’s poetry of the 1980s, Fleur – one of the few female poets to have joined Edward Lucie-Smith’s circle, the Group, in 1963 – became a voice to be listened to. She was an influence on a younger generation of poets that included Duffy, Carol Rumens, Vicki Feaver and Jo Shapcott, especially in writing about subjects such as smoking, celibacy, old age, masturbation, illness and bereavement, and thus opening up new topics for poetry.

There were some risqué tongue-in-cheek poems acclaiming the solo woman, like Smokers for Celibacy (1991), which concludes “Altogether, we’ve come to the conclusion that sex is a drag. / Just give us a fag”. Others celebrate women as superstars, fantastic figures of legend, elevated stratospherically, such as The Ex-Queen Among the Astronomers (1979), whose “hair / crackles, her eyes are comet-sparks” and who “brings the distant briefly close /above his dreamy abstract stare”.

Fleur was born in Papakura, in New Zealand’s North Island, to Cyril Adcock (who published as CJ Adcock), a teacher, and Irene (nee Robinson), a music teacher and writer. Fleur’s sister, Marilyn (later the acclaimed novelist Marilyn Duckworth), was born the following year.

In 1939 the family travelled to Britain so that Cyril could study for a doctorate in psychology at Birkbeck College, London, with war breaking out while the move was in progress. The sisters were evacuated, first to Grange Farm in Leicestershire – but other moves followed and Fleur counted 11 schools in seven and a half years.

Upon the family’s return to New Zealand, she studied classics at Wellington girls’ college and Te Herenga Waka – Victoria University of Wellington. In 1952 she married the poet Alistair Te Ariki Campbell, and they had two sons, Gregory and Andrew. They divorced in 1958; a second marriage of five months followed in 1962, to the writer Barry Crump, before Fleur departed for Britain in 1963.

She had already written most of her first collection, The Eye of the Hurricane (1964), which was published in New Zealand: many of these poems are placeless, reflecting her passion for the English landscape and inability to engage with the natural world of her native country.

When settings appear, as in her next volume, Tigers (1967), published in the UK, there is a sting. Stewart Island (1971) begins: “‘But look at all this beauty,’ / said the hotel manager’s wife”. It concludes with the image of a seagull descending with jabbing beak, and her comment, “I had already / decided to leave the country.”

Although Fleur’s work fitted into the mainstream of postwar British poetry despite its outsider interrogations, she carried out her personal explorations with the zeal of a newcomer. She developed a passion for places and journeys: the landscapes of Northern Ireland introduced her to her maternal roots, and made her aware of the ethnic complexity of her New Zealand identity; she fell in love with the Lake District, discovering Dorothy Wordsworth’s journals, as Arts Council creative writing fellow at Charlotte Mason College of Education in Ambleside (1977-78) , and then with the north of England, as Northern Arts literary fellow at the Universities of Newcastle and Durham.

Well established by then, and familiar to many as a poetry commentator for the BBC, she resigned in 1979 from her position at the Foreign and Commonwealth Office library to become a full-time writer. Later she supported herself when necessary by tutoring for the creative writing organisation Arvon.

After the publication of Poems 1960-2000 (2000), Fleur stopped writing for a decade. But then a late flowering occurred, with five new volumes, enough to double her previous output, as she became, in her words, “embarrassingly prolific”.

A strong motivating factor was her fascination with the past and ancestral voices; this was tied up with her reconciliation with New Zealand, a reunion effected over decades by constant travel back and forth, but now more intensely focused on the early years, her parents and their colonial origins.

It was a sideways glance at her country of origin, fuelled by her curiosity about places and her unceasing search for connectivity, an elliptical rather than a full circle. Poems in The Land Ballot (2015) and Hoard (2017) record excursions and road trips: titles include Kuaotunu, Rangiwahia, Drury, Pakiri, Ruakaka, Alfriston, Helensville and Raglan. Reviving memories, they fill in those gaps invisible in the earlier work that had shaped her poetic signature.

They also completed Fleur’s voyage of discovery within the frameworks of her immediate past, the genealogical past and the deeper past of New Zealand’s colonial history.

Among many honours Fleur was awarded the Queen’s Medal for Poetry in 2006 and the New Zealand Prime Minister’s award for literary achievement in poetry, 2019.

She is survived by her sons, Gregory and Andrew, six grandchildren, Oliver, Lilian, Julia, Ella, Cait and Rosa, and seven great-grandchildren, Charlie, Ash, Seth, Alexandra, Jean, Ella and Mira Fleur, and by her sister, Marilyn.

🔔 Fleur Adcock, poet, born 10 February 1934; died 10 October 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[southeastasianists]

Tan Ming Li is a certified death doula. Just as there are those who facilitate bringing new life into the world, there should be people facilitating more and better ways to talk about death and dying, she reasons.

In 2023, she started The Life Review, a social venture with the mission to normalise conversations about death, dying and bereavement. Events open to the public include Life Stories, a series of chat sessions with topics such as “Motherless daughters”, “Real men don’t cry” and “Pet loss and our enduring bonds”; as well as Death Over Dinner, in which people come together to have conversations guided by Tan about their personal experiences with loss while sharing a meal.

The last Death Over Dinner took place at South Indian restaurant Podi & Poriyal, where participants were served dishes containing ingredients with special life and death significance in South Indian culture such as black sesame seeds, which signify purification; and jackfruit, the wood of which is often used as funeral pyre logs during cremation.

“What better way for Asians to connect than through food?” said Tan, explaining that Death Over Dinner is actually a global movement that originated in the US, “but we tweaked it so that food was a much bigger component, building the conversations around the ingredients and dishes. In other countries, the concept is just for people to talk about death over the dinner table.”

Tan, who is in her 40s, believes that getting comfortable with talking openly and honestly about such topics is vitally important.

“A nationwide survey conducted last year (by the Singapore Management University) revealed that ‘only 53 per cent of Singaporeans are comfortable discussing their own death while barely a third (33.4 per cent) would do so with someone who is dying’,” she shared.

She feels there is also a tendency to over-medicalise conversations about death, focusing on treatments and doctors.

“As a society, death is not something that is commonly discussed and we tend to be ‘death-denying’. Healthcare and wellness are all about ‘preventing’ death. In fighting against death, we are unaccepting of this natural part of life. This makes it hard to be vulnerable about our emotions around it,” she said.

Even if you haven’t lost a loved one yourself, “When someone else experiences a loss, many of us don’t know how to address the topic and end up using platitudes like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or worse, ‘Everything happens for a reason’,” she pointed out.

Ironically, avoiding the subject of death inadvertently gives it more power. “This power can then suppress our thoughts, beliefs and behaviour,” she opined.

NO STRANGER TO DEATH AND DENIAL

Tan speaks from personal experience. When she was 17, her mum died of cancer. “Dad said, ‘Don’t worry, she will recover.’ Her sudden passing left us in shock. I remember my dad brought me to the hospital canteen, broke the news to me and simply said, ‘We just have to accept it and move on’. I don’t think he ever recovered. As far as I recall, there were no conversations about it within the family.

“In the years that followed, I lost my dad, grandma, uncles and aunts… I was frozen in my grief response and it took a mental health crisis for me to start addressing these issues.”

Concurrently, Tan had always been interested in social work, from her university years when she volunteered to support children with special needs, to volunteering to teach yoga and breathing at various institutions including the Society for the Physically Disabled (SPD) and the Institute of Mental Health (IMH). She also lived in Thailand for several years, where she gave her time to a social enterprise helping indigenous craftsmen sell their goods.

Her career was in Advertising Research until she took a sabbatical and travelled to India in 2013. Following that period of time in which to think and reflect, she embarked on a new path, offering services such as mindfulness and movement.

“In the course of my work, I encountered clients who are terminally ill or grieving the loss of a loved one. Curious about how to better support them, I started researching the topic,” she recalled. “One day, I received an email from students working on a grief literacy event, inviting me to facilitate a somatic movement session for parents who had lost their child. Somatic movement involves exploring the body's sensations and movements to promote healing. During this session, many participants were able to release long held emotions within their bodies, even years after their loved one had passed.”

Motivated by the experience, she enrolled in the death doula course offered by the International End of Life Doula Association, an organisation in the US. Participants acquire skills revolving around how to support and comfort the dying and their loved ones.

“As I delved deeper into the subject, I realised that this was something that needed to go beyond supporting my clients one-to-one. The societal reluctance to discuss death openly leads to a lot of discomfort and unresolved emotions surrounding the topic, and I realised the need to scale and bring this out to the public,” she said.

So, “I decided to pursue a Masters of Science degree in Thanotology – even doctors go, ‘What’s that?’ – and start The Life Review as a platform for people to get comfortable discussing end-of-life matters through education and engagement.”

As far as she knows, she’s the only one in Singapore taking a Masters in Thanatology (“When the course started, the Programme Director said, ‘Now we are an international programme, thanks to Ming Li!’”) and one of just four people in Singapore who have completed death doula training.

“While trying to help people going through bereavement and grief, it struck me that I also had to look at my own experiences and work through all the emotions and experiences that I hadn’t known how to deal with – or even realised was necessary to,” she divulged.

“The way society operates, if we experience a loss, we are given three days of compassionate leave – and only for immediate family – and then we are expected to get back to ‘normal’ as productive members of society. But what about losing a friend? A partner? A pet? Do you get over it in three days? Since the norm was to get on with life, that’s what I did. It was only later in life that I realised that it was affecting me in ways that I did not immediately connect back to my earlier experiences, such as in the way I interacted with people in relationships and friendships. I would not get too close in case they would disappear,” she shared.

And so, “The main reason I’m doing this now is because of what I have gone through in my own life. The programmes I’m planning are skewed towards caregivers for now, as I don’t want anyone to be in a situation that I was in.” She added, “It was a turning point for me to adopt cats, knowing that they will die before me, yet to accept this and love them.”

Her work has also turned into “my legacy project for my parents”.

“I have a purpose to fulfil now, to bring The Life Review into fruition, in the remaining years left of my life. And in a way, I’m already planning for my end, making sure that I don’t regret things that I could or should have done,” she said.

DINNER WITH A PURPOSE

At Death Over Dinner events, “The framing of conversations is intentionally designed to be inclusive and non-confrontational. Participants are encouraged to share their thoughts and experiences without feeling pressured to delve into deeply personal reflections or imagine their own funerals,” Tan said.

The dinner serves as a casual starting point for discussions about a normally taboo topic to unfold naturally, fostering a sense of comfort and familiarity around the topic of death, she continued. “The intention is not to impose rigid guidelines or restrictions but rather to offer gentle guidance and prompts to steer the dialogue in a constructive direction” while embracing cultural elements within our specific society.

It is also about equipping people with the knowhow and language to either walk alongside a person who is dying, or to support a caregiver.

There are sessions taking place every quarter, which are open for individual sign-ups. The next Death Over Dinner event is planned for Apr 25 at Podi & Poriyal, with a group size of 12 to 16 people. Tan is also open to private group bookings, and hopes to possibly work with other restaurants as well.

The topic of death is rarely broached when everyone is healthy, she mused. But, in the face of loss, which comes sooner or later to all of us, “People may struggle to find the right words to express their feelings or fears, fearing that broaching the topic could cause further distress or discomfort to the person who is ill. As a result, conversations about end-of-life wishes, funeral arrangements, or even acknowledging the possibility of death may be avoided altogether, creating a palpable tension and unease.

"Dealing with it openly and saying what needs to be said can help the ones left behind adjust to the loss after the person passes away.”

And, “In the case of someone who knows they are dying, people around them not wanting to talk about it can leave them feeling unheard. They may not be able to express their desires; there may be things left unsaid; there may be people tiptoeing around them and telling them, ‘You’re going to be fine’ when they know full well they won’t be.”

The question of how we can begin to approach the topic of death in a meaningful way begs another: How talking about death openly and frankly can help us to live our lives more fully and intentionally.

“Accepting the finite nature of life and finding peace with it can change our outlook on life. When we acknowledge that life inevitably starts and ends, we are able to define what happens in between that holds significance,” Tan said.

“How do we make what happens in the middle matter? How do we leave a legacy for ourselves and future generations? Do we want to spend our time sweating the small stuff and harbouring grudges, or instead, use it to create memories and foster deep relationships? Living intentionally prompts us to confront these questions and align our actions with our values.

“Ultimately, embracing the impermanence of life compels us to live authentically, love fiercely and leave a legacy of compassion and connection.”

To sign up for Death Over Dinner, visit https://thelifereview.org/death-over-dinner.