When They Breathed

Now

April 7, 2018, was the day everything changed.

It's been twenty-three days since they've died. Or twenty-two if you weren't to count today yet considering there's still time left. I say it's been twenty-one since we still haven't fully lived this day without them. Not that the technicality of it all would matter. I don't think most people would care about the minor details of the passing days. The simplicity of it is that everyone knows they're gone and we all feel it.

But still. You would think for such influential people in our small town, the world would actually stop spinning and mourn the loss of the loved Twins. They were one of the biggest, most important parts of the working machine that is Cannon Beach, and now that their gear is gone, we're all stuck and broken without them. I think we all expected something to end, just like how their lives did. But, time isn't stopping, not even for the famous Twins. Time is still going, ticking, beating through us all, and answers haven't been revealed yet.

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Death is an interesting prospect, one that I haven't been able to stop thinking about since I found out the news. When I'm introduced to a new idea, I first analyze the current socially acceptable explanation, ask questions, and then challenge the current status quo. This usually means I spend many hours sitting at my desk, thinking and occasionally frantically scribbling nonsense from my head in my notebook. With vigor, I look at every angle I can to understand the topic before coming up with my own state of affairs.

With death, however, there is no across the board status quo. I've read and seen and talked to many people and have heard all of their faiths. Every person is different in their thoughts on death and what it means after we leave our body empty and cold. Even those who practice the same religion have tweaked perspectives on the looming matter. Many things I deal with have both facts and opinions. True and false. Real and fake. But with death, it's a completely different matter.

When interviewing someone, I can easily tell if they're lying or stretching the truth. And I always call them out on that. I must or else I wouldn't be a good journalist and reporter. Many find my bluntness appalling. But they don't realize that it's just the way I grew up. Much like how many people here in Cannon Beach have stuck with the same religion their parents put them in from when they were a child. Still, I recognize how my candor can be horrific.

Though, if I interviewed Death itself, I would be just as blunt, pen, and paper out, ready to ask all of my questions.

At first, when I was analyzing and inquiring the citizens of Cannon Beach on their religious beliefs to gain some basics of how our community would handle the deaths, I felt overwhelming sadness emitting from them all. I was sensible enough to start with those who were least affected by the tragic death of the most loved siblings in the area for miles, though I still didn't see much improvement. Not when the middle-age woman who I ran into the street spat in my face and called me disrespectful. It was at the tip of my tongue to go into what it means to respect another human, another adult, and how I was not the one who was lacking respect in that situation. Instead, I practiced some deep breaths and put into perspective how she probably is scared of everything going around our town.

After another attempt at a conversation with my underlying questions, I quickly ended it when they, too, were showing symptoms of grief. This forced me to back off, to step away from depending on others' for information, and took to asking myself the same questions instead.

Growing up, my parents didn't force any specific religion on me. We would occasionally go to church on Sundays in one of the buildings nearby where we live, but that's the extent of my doctrinal background. I wasn't told to pray every night or read the bible when I swore. We simply were taught to accept all people, including their religions, ethnicity, and where they came from. I came from a home where I was taught to love more than hate. My family as a whole has very loose beliefs when it comes to Gods and the rituals some people take part in.