Jake LaCaze

grief

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the whole “human experience” thing right. The concern usually arises when I'm expected to reminisce and recall specific memories. Ones that some people take for granted.

The catalyst is often an innocent question.

“What's your earliest memory?”

I never know how to answer such a question. I have only the vaguest recollections from kindergarten, let alone anything before. Is there any utility to pushing myself closer to the beginning of my own timeline? I don't see the point, but am I alone?

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It was lunchtime on November 28 before I realized the significance of the date. The revelation was discovered due to an innocent conversation with a co-worker. Details about certain family history were questioned. I considered my answer, did some quick math, and then realized what would have been obvious and dreaded by most in my situation: It was the seventh anniversary of my mother's death.

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Over many moons now I've asked myself that existential question that every writer asks him or herself: “Why do I write?” Or maybe even more specifically, “Why am I writing about this?” And I've definitely been asking myself that question in regard to this blog and how it's evolved into something deeply personal, something which may turn some people off. Something which at times may concern me. Maybe even scare me a bit. Though hardly anyone reads this blog, it's out there to be found if anyone seeks it. These posts are now public record for anyone to see. This site makes me vulnerable in a way to which I am still adjusting.

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Though I am a bit creeped out by data collection, I do look forward to Spotify's end-of-year summary email. The summary always gives an interesting snapshot of the listener's year in music. How much time did you spend listening to music throughout the year? What songs did you listen to most? These questions and more will be answered.

I guess I'm not so bothered by the practice of data collection as long as I get something cool or interesting out of it. Let's face it, everyone's a hypocrite at times.

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It seems that my blog has mostly become a medium for me to write about revelations from troubling events I endured a few years ago. This was not intentional, but little in my life has ever gone according to any semblance of a plan. Therefore, I suppose my best strategy is to just roll with it, so I'm going to take a page from the Nike handbook and Just do it.

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From time to time, someone will accuse me of having a morbid fascination with death. I’d argue that fascination is a bit inaccurate; my relationship with death is closer to a familiarity slowly working its way toward acceptance. Those who know me beyond the most superficial terms know that death and the resulting losses and grief have had a big influence on me over the last few years. In short, loss has opened my eyes to certain realities, has shaped so many of my views, and has changed the very essence of who I am.

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