Life Is Very Difficult

May honest folk proper.

After the funeral of my father



Since my father died last November, I have sometimes found myself wondering what is the difference between me and him. More specifically, why am I alive and is he dead? But this question is at first sight ridiculous. There seems to be no point in questioning such a thing. But I do so. Here is what I think makes me wonder.

In a sense, when my father died, I, at least part of me, died, too. There had been me on his mind, on his consciousness before he died. But I can no longer be presented to him in such a way. My self as seen by my father, experienced by my father, is gone. This is what I meant by the statement that part of me is dead.

This is also true of my father. The father as I had seen him is dead. If this is correct, there seems to be no difference between me and him. I believe this is why I sometimes ponder over the difference between me and my dead father. What is it that makes me alive and him dead?