Being Amber Rhea

As I said on Twitter, all day I’ve been feeling like I should write something, but I don’t know what.

I could post the letter I wrote to CBS urging them not to cancel Swingtown; I could write any number of screeds on any number of topics I’m passionate about; but it just feels a little fake at this point. As if doing so would deny - or at the very least, fail to acknowledge - everything that’s been going on behind the scenes, behind my eyes (not to get too emo-poetic about it).

In my last post, I said: “And all of this has made me feel like I can do it, must do it, write for my life…” But I’m not sure I know what that means, “write for my life.” Maybe it just means stream of consciousness babble and pretending no one is reading.

They (yes, they!) say that the death of a friend or family member naturally makes the surviving friends/relatives consider their own mortality. The truth is, I was terrified of death already. I know that on some level, sure, most people are “scared of death,” but I don’t think most people feel the terror and panic of it the way I often do. I’m hoping that’ll go away, or at least mellow, as I get older. But I guess it’s really just a fear of the unknown or the unexpected. Something can happen at any moment, you never know when. That is what scares me. That I could lose my whole world in just an instant. Plus, I’m bothered by the concept of history and permanence and record-keeping anyway, and when I even begin to think along those lines, it’s really down the rabbit hole.

I’ve been lucky, in some ways. I’ve made it to 28 and this is the first death I’ve experienced of someone who was really close to me, in one way or another. Both my paternal grandparents died several years ago, but I’d only met them once in my life (when I was three), so while it was sad, it was more of that detached sadness you feel when learning that anyone died.

I don’t know if I can write about all of this without sounding emo-poetic-angsty.

Crap, that reminds me (don’t know why)… I still need to contact my dad’s other children. I need to write them a letter, and weirdly, now that he’s gone, I don’t feel so conflicted about including the stuff about how even though I completely understand if they feel resentful toward me, things weren’t always peachy for me growing up. Here’s hoping they’ll get it… the only address I have is from about four years ago, no idea if it’s still current. Google wasn’t much help.

A lot of people were very nice last week, and I want to write about that. Some other people were inappropriate, and I want to write about that, too; but the niceness, in a way that tripped me up a little, is what I want to focus on first. If I can sort out my thoughts, of course.

My great-aunt Faye (whom I hadn’t seen in nearly ten years) hugged me tightly after the funeral service, and she even used the word “selfish,” but for some reason when she said it, it was comforting, just as she’d intended; even though Jenny was quick to assure me I’m not selfish. ;) But that’s another story.

Another thought I’ve had: what will happen when bloggers start dying? I know some already have, obviously; but I mean on a larger scale, like 40-50 years from now? I guess the larger question is what will blogs - or even the Internet as a whole - even look like at that point, and there’s no way to know; but I always find it sad and and a little unsettling when I come across a blog that hasn’t been updated in months or years, with no explanation - even if the truth is just that the blogger got tired of updating. It feels like there’s a missing chapter, no closure.

But I know, real life doesn’t have nice neat chapters and endings and such. Still, an abrupt cut-off just leaves me feeling unsettled.