This is a thoughtful, insightful interrogation of what death means to the living.
The concepts resonated with me. I especially liked how the author's MC, Erik, mused:
𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘧 𝘶𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘴𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘧𝘭𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴.
I was curious about the art style at first, the initial figures sketched with multiple lines drawing down vertically, when it hit me: it represents our feelings, the weight of them, how they bleed.
In other scenes, the artist renders people and scenery in a kind of courtroom sketch style, only much much better than the way I'm analogizing it.
As the story dives deeper, the thoughtful musician MC excavates his experience of loss, and places it next to the daily preoccupations of our minds. It turns out that what we usually focus on is terribly shallow and generally meaningless. Grief is a place which can provide both fugue and sharp perspective.
We surrender some of our identity due to loss: taking on a new name for ourselves: the bereaved, or worse: orphan or widow. In both life and death, we are most often identified by our relation to someone else: brother, mother, or by what we do or what we've accomplished. How would we describe ourselves without referring to any of those ties?
Grief isn't just sadness, or even anger. It's as if all of the emotions flood the zone of our interior, like a spigot on full-blast. It should therefore not surprise us that the high pressure nature of grief can cause us to lash out, to direct that fire hose of mixed emotions right at those closest to us, both literally and figuratively.
Of course, everyone grieves differently. For some, the hydrant is stuck. Instead of a fire hose of emotions, some feel only numbness, or more accurately, an absence of feeling. A "not there" feeling can leave us untethered. A severed connection leaves us wondering who we are now. *Nothing* might be thought of as an absence, but it still has a shape, and sometimes, a weight to it.
Erik sees the world through the lens of music: sometimes melodic, often dissonant. He realizes that just as certain music can feel haunting, our memories and the lost potential of our lives can feel haunting. Was this who we wanted to be?
The authors' description of Erik's emotional turmoil is rendered perfectly, both in images and often poetic words.
The story also reaffirms what I have often witnessed in my own life: a sister taking up all the practical details that need taking care of, partly because it needs to be done, and partly as a coping mechanism. Brothers tend to need an environment with zero expectations of them, so they can emotionally process right away. Neither approach is right or wrong, but inevitably this sharp contrast can cause explosive conflict. At the same time, the survivors are also busy examining the state of their own lives.
Erik has the same main worry that most of us share: Am I leading a mediocre life? Also, its corollary: what if I missed out on my original destiny?
The story is evocative, tragic, and an excellent example of both intergenerational trauma, and the ultimate cost of our dreams.