I consider myself brave to be eating extra sharp cheddar and here I am, thinking about Thor’s stinky cheese. I never met him, and nobody knows it, but I cling to these little tidbits of information, patching together a sort of fantasy form of my grandfather. With time to spare at the café, my biology finished and my empty book open in front of me, stories aren’t coming. Death doesn’t scare me. I wonder why, because sometimes I feel like I should be afraid. Is a body so gory after all? What is a body once one is dead? A shell? Where is my Thor now? Is it true that people just, disappear? Cease to exist? I think more of death now because of Larry Mayo. I knew him, true, but I did not talk to him much, and now I cannot. All of the sudden he is gone, just like a blown out candle on my birthday cake next week. But he isn’t gone to me.
In his house, he still seems alive, they laugh and talk about him, a table displays pictures from his life and his three children tell jokes with a sad hint behind their eyes.

I missed it, you’d think I wouldn’t have, but he was there. His body, I mean. Lying in bed, and I didn’t see it. Afterward I wondered how I didn’t notice him there in plain view, just his shell, memories and mind somewhere… Anywhere?

This in turn made me think about Thor. Because he’s gone. In a different way. I envy Larry’s grandchildren here, eating silently, listening. They knew him, loved him in their own way, and maybe hated some qualities. Sometimes I wonder if I would have loved Thor as much as I do without knowledge or memories. So to quench my thirst for him, I piece together these tiny things, like the ocean, his old sweatshirt and his love of stinky cheese.

Maybe sometimes death is bad, and I am not saying it isn’t sad, but something about it, the light smile playing on Grandma Mayo’s face, and the laughter, tells me that sadness and death should never be something to fear. It should be something to marvel at and to wonder after.