Morbid, Unhappy, Bitter

Yesterday, Harold Ramis died. He had written, directed and appeared in numerous classic comedies, and certainly the world is absent one of the better there ever was upon his death. Still, I find myself stopping somewhat short of the grief exhibited by others online. I read of his death, thought what a shame it was, and was prepared to carry on with dry eyes and the same level of focus with which I had begun the day.

Other people, it seemed, were wailing and gnashing their teeth; they were torn over whether they should leap off the ledge or instead thrown themselves on Ramis' casket and plead with him not to leave them alone. This is another of those situations where I realize how different I am from people. I wonder even if I could be a damn sociopath, so little do I feel by comparison with people I otherwise find respectable and intelligent.

Here's how I figure the situation (although I imagine I've done so before in similar circumstances): Harold Ramis, while a public figure, is not someone I know personally. The way the entertainment industry works, I'm deliberately made to feel a connection with all manner of actors, athletes and the like, because I'm better disposed to buying things if I feel like I know them. I know that I don't know them. That being the case, I withhold feelings like grief from celebrities. I save them for loved ones.

Grieving over loved ones is horrible. It's a painful, wrenching experience. Some of the worst days in my entire life have been funerals. As profoundly sad as I have been in attendance at them, I have also been racked with guilt over a failure to muster tears. Grief is horrible, and so I am reluctant to express anything approaching it for someone who I recall fondly for some movies I saw once. Call me callous if you will.

Other people are either more feeling creatures than I am, or they find grieving to be something like a hobby. Do they consult the news to arbitrarily find someone who's died before declaring that the light is gone from their lives and that they'll never know joy again? I suppose it's not that bad, but I do feel rather annoyed that the 'national discourse', if such a thing exists, should be filled with a lot of lamentations by people who have no stake in a man's life and who will be fine tomorrow before forgetting the matter entirely within a week.

If I may be permitted to get more morbid, I'll restate my wishes for myself. I have no desire to be mourned in death online. I'm sure I would rather be forgotten entirely than for one word of sadness about my death to appear online. What a cheapening medium social networks are. I hate to think of the same faintly-remembered almost-friends who annually wish me a happy birthday also declaring "RIP Calder Holbrook" as if that was a worthy tribute to the life of a human being. The only messages I will be receiving from the afterlife will have been made in person at my services, or in some more traditional, dignified medium. People who know they don't know me should not bother in any case.