Olly never liked people very much. He was rescued at ~9 months old wandering around the streets in my hometown. Because of this, and perhaps his past, he had an aversion to lots of commotion, people he didn't know, or unexpected noise. But between all of that, he came to trust me, and placed his faith in me—his twelve year old owner. He grew up with me, as I went through high school, then university, a few jobs, and more.

My furry companion, who at night would sleep on my bed, curled up, paws covering his eyes (but only after licking my hand with his raspy tongue for minutes on end) and during the day would wander outside—safety assured, away from any main roads, with lots of high grass to wander through—or lounge under the sun in the front yard.

He always had to be the boss—have things his way. A large, well-built 6.5kg ginger-tabby who was neutered much later than you'd normally neuter a kitten. This bossiness extended to the neighbourhood competition. He didn't like other cats much, either. This would lead to an occasional, emotionally painful (for both of us) trip to the vets to treat a scratch, or bite. A 20 minute drive in a cat box, as he meowed and sobbed his head off—telling us in no uncertain terms, "let me out!".

And do you think he'd ever let you pick him up? Not a chance. Everything has to be on his terms! But in between his assertiveness, he shared his love for me, bumping his head into mine, gently touching my face with his paw on occasion, being a part of my life as I was a part of his.

Unfortunately, none of us can escape the forever ticking of time. 13 good years pass. For the past week though, he started becoming more introverted, would sleep more—and eat less. Taking this kind of cat to the vet is a judgement call that you don't make lightly. Do you cause stress and anxiety, making him trust you less for weeks on end, make him spend more time outside, away from your watchful eye? Or do you visit the vet less frequently, but still proactively, if you know something is definitely wrong?

I made the latter decision last night, taking him to afterhours. The triage indicated a heart murmur, and a blood panel indicated parameters that might be indicative of mild renal dysfunction—to be followed up at the proper vet tomorrow. So he was sent home, with some precautionary injections, and an appetite and hydration boost.

Sadly, I never got that opportunity to take him for a follow up. He slept with me that night, but his condition deteriorated rapidly this morning. I rushed him to the proper vet, watching him helplessly tremble and vocalise his scaredness. I can't help but cry as I type this. The staff told me it was time. I knew it, and in some ways, I think he did too. I'm glad I got to give him the opportunity to fade away peacefully.

I don't have many frames of reference to compare this part of my life to, but it seems to me this is the most pain I've ever felt over a single event. You might be able to get another cat, but you definitely can't get another Olly. A part of my heart is forever gone. I'm a believer that the pain doesn't really go away, you probably just learn to cope with it more, to focus on the years of good, and not the hours of bad. I really hope I can do that, because he was my best friend.

I love you, buddy. I hope you're at rest now, and I'll miss you always. 🧡

I've been playing a Tomb of Annihilation campaign with some friends the past few months, and we are all relatively new players (each of us having played about one campaign before). As far as I know this is the first time any of us have been in a campaign where a PC dies. My level 4 wizard was suddenly and violently killed by a flesh golem.

None of us are exactly sure how to proceed, and there's some disagreement. A few of the people in my party think that any new character should be a level or two behind the party in order to further dis-incentivize dying. I personally think that is too harsh, and luckily it seems like we are reaching a consensus that my new character should be the same level, but I shouldn't be able to play as the same race and class.

This seems more or less reasonable to me, although to be honest I really enjoyed playing as a wizard so I wouldn't have minded doing so again. I'm mainly curious to hear how you all handle character deaths, and any tips you might have for making a new character mid-campaign.

I'll preface this by saying this post is birthed out of a small argument I'm having on Reddit, but the topic seems like a worthwhile one. (And I'm not getting much other than downvotes for a counterargument over there!)

The initial question is whether or not the death of someone who is very old (95 years or more) should be considered tragic. Some things to consider:

1. The overall health and condition of the person.

• Are they in constant state of suffering?

2. The wishes of the person.

• Do they actively wish to be dead? This might not even be out of suffering. Some people, as they get to be quite old, are just bored of their lives or want this stage to be over. Anecdotally, my great-grandmother was this way from the ages of 90 and onward. (She quite famously would greet cashiers with "I want to die.")

3. Are they still active?

• Do they still find meaning in what they are doing? For example, David Attenborough is 93 years old and is still a big presence on the world stage. Despite his great age, if he were to die, his work would still be ‘cut short.’

4. The circumstances by which they die.

• Was it sudden, or did it take a long time? Was it painful? Was it violent?

This list is not exhaustive. I welcome suggestions for what should be added to it.

There is also how we define tragedy. In general terms, it typically just alludes to an event that causes great suffering and distress. I think this is the definition that we are more concerned with. Alternatively, there is the theatrical definition of tragedy, which is more tied to the leading character suffering some major downfall at the end of the narrative. While we could construe the death of someone in real life this way, it seems to be a bit of a stretch as most of us do not live out our lives in three-act structures with a clear climax and finale. (I’m going to rule out this definition now, if not just for the sake of argument.)

Balancing all of these thoughts, I think the crux of where disagreement lies is in how we feel about death for the deceased versus our own selfish desires. Bringing this back to my anecdote, about twenty years ago, my great-grandmother passed at the age of 94. She spent at least the last 5 years of her life pleading to God to finally take her. Her health was fine. She lived in her house, alone, fully capable of maintaining it (and herself). In fact, in the year prior to her death, she was so physically active that she painted all 200 feet of her white picket fence! By all means, she was not physically suffering. She just simply wanted to go.

Then she did. I think the group consensus was something akin to, “Well, I guess she finally got what she wanted. I’m going to miss her.” It was a feeling of simultaneously being happy for her and grief for ourselves.

To which, does this make for a tragedy?

Some might call it splitting hairs, but what I am arguing is that the death itself was not tragic. What is tragic is our loss of the ability to interact with that person and the feelings of grief that follow. I cannot help but feel these are ultimately separate things that we have such a difficult time reconciling. Part of life is death, and as long as we revere life, we must also revere the last part of it. If we did this better, we might have an easier time accepting things like medical-assistance-in-dying. It is for this reason that I say, death, by default, does not necessitate tragedy.

However while death is not necessarily tragic, I do think there are a multitude of conditions that would make death sufficiently tragic. Looking back at my list above, the death of a young healthy person would be considered tragic. Suppose someone was violently beheaded; this could be considered tragic. Even suppose that the 93-year-old David Attenborough passed away, I would think his death to be tragic as he wanted to offer more to the world.

Anyway, I think I’ve rambled enough. What are your thoughts?

I was a kintsugi bitch

A dull, forgotten, broken pot

And then you fixed me up

.

You lined me with your own

dweomercrafted brand of gold

Lac, Mel, et Saccharum

.

And when you’d starve me for attention,

Fed me more from your breast

Til you filled me up

.

And then I’d look you in the eyes

Sugar broiling in the stomach

Am I pretty now

..

Lost, full, and quite ignored

When you had leapt onto the floor

And said we’ve got to go

.

I grabbed your hand and followed blind

My stomach churned I lagged behind

You were the love I know

.

You said we’re going to the sea

My dear you’ll spend a life with me

We’ll make the waves a home

.

And I smiled ear to ear

Cheeks were blushing like a deer

Am I pretty now

..

And then we made it to the bay

quickly climbed into a boat

They never have to know

.

We headed south for centuries

They cannot take the memories

I never hunger now

.

And after weeks of solitude

A stranger came into the view

There was another boat

.

My stomach burned, concerned,

Not a soul had stood astern

You produced a rope

..

You gave a gentle kiss

And slid the twine across my wrists

And tied them into knots

Dipped my legs into the water

Either hand tied either helm

Stretched into a cross

I looked up at you in fear

Just to see you’ve disappeared

I started crying out.

My stomach burned under the water

And the sun was getting hotter

And I’m all alone.

I pleased come to feed me

Don’t leave me weak, depleting

I got no response.

The fish were getting curious

Flies buzzed something furious

They knew what I did not

That if you leave out milk and honey

In the heat, in weather sunny,

It’ll start to rot.

.

Months had passed in sickly motion

Head leaned back, my eyes were open

I died long ago.

The bugs ate at my open mouth

My skin was yellow, wrought with drought

My throat housed a mold

The waters smelled of sulfate

As the serpents ate my stomach ache

My blood has washed away

The rope gave up on hope and

Threw my purple, molten corpse into the ocean

Am I pretty now?

.

.

.

one day

i will die

one day

so will you.

the pictures on the wall

will end up in the trash

or old and tattered

in an attic.

our greatest of great-grandkids

won't know our faces or

how deeply we were saddened

to never see them grow

to never learn the world they know

to never speak their modern language

or watch the trees around them

grow.

for we'll be dead in the ground

and we'll never hear a sound

for what comes next ain't only silence

it ain't blood and it ain't violence

it just

ain't.

so for now we're killing time perhaps

we'll get laid or

learn to paint.

but in the end, it all goes out

into the trash

into the dust

and rest assured

into the ground.

.

if you choose to abuse me

i'd rather hear threats for ever than

hear no sound.

because if you're still here to hurt me

i can say that someone

stuck around.

.

.

.

before i'm buried in the ground.

News article: 'We're on the right side of history': Victoria’s assisted dying laws come into effect for terminally ill

Legal outline: Voluntary assisted dying laws commence in Victoria - Voluntary Assisted Dying Act 2017 (Vic)

For most stories, when you have an evil or otherwise irredeemable character, death is the only form of satisfactory redemption. Anything less is simply not convincing for most audiences.

I'm sure a lot of people can write novels on Spike's character arcs, but I just wanted to discuss a little bit of his redemption arc.

Interestingly, his sacrifice at the end of Buffy season 7, is the beginning of his actual character. Sure, he's helped out Buffy before that, but he was far from "the greater good" until then. So death, and boom - character redeemed.

So how's the redemption arc when he's brought back in Angel. It's harder now because now he's up and walking and possibility doing things that negate his redemption. He now has to live the life he supposedly wanted to when he made his sacrifice.

Not saying that's what happened, but I think the writers went out of their way to show this.

(Going off memory now, so please feel free to correct me, if I get any details wrong...)

Not long after he's ghost-Spike, he starts feeling like he's pulled to "Hell", and develops a friendship with Fred, who ultimately saves him from that fate. This establishes his "goodness" for the rest of Angel.

Thoughts? Other characters that share something similar you want to talk about? How would Spike feel without this episode? Anyone just want to gush about Spike in general?

bishop.

tw: death

i remember the day that they died.
you called me at work in the
middle of my shift shooken up,
you wailed and cried
you were hours away
divorce was on the horizon
your mother
she went to get the last of her things
brothers in tow, each under her wings
wanting to grab their toys, their cars,
living in an apartment, left the trampoline

the pool's mostly empty now, and green.

i was always taught that ghosts scream
that any haunted house is a broken record
out of a low-budget horror scene
blood on the walls, ripped at the seams,
what they never tell you in the movies
is that the real scare is going to the house
six months later and finding it empty

and silent.

all that's left is the memory of the violent
no one left to water the yard
grass is yellow, in the garden
wilted violets
and the paintings still hang on the walls.
the lamp is still there on the nightstand
the pots and pans are still in the kitchen
the paper is still on the desk
everything is still where it should be
every item right where it was left
except this sudden void in your soul
and the unending feeling of being depressed
and lost,

scared

a lost lamb in a land once shared
a home where you would draw or write
and now all that's left is light
flittering in through the windows
that just feels so out of place
paintings on the floor covering up
the holes where the bullets laid
open casket you broke down
at the sight of his little face

god what a fucking monster

two years now since the day you lost her
and i have no idea how you are.
i took it upon myself to watch over you, a foster
and hoped to show you real love after this imposter
came into your life and ripped it in pieces
with this targeted hatred and ceaseless screaming
god if i could go back in time.

even still now i wish to trade their lives for mine

even if it just meant another day,
maybe one last time for you to
share a smile or say goodbye
to make peace and hug your mom
or read harry potter to your brothers here
in person and not occasionally from beyond
the grave that plays that same god-fucking-forsaken
song as the house does when you visit.

silence.

why dont they play music in the graveyards.

why dont they play music in the graveyards.

I'm a pretty big DC fan, and they are notorious for killing and bringing back characters, such as Superman, Jason Todd (Batman's second Robin), Bruce Wayne, and more.

Warning: Jason Todd spoiler ahead...

I didn't like Jason as Robin (who he died as), but love him as the Red Hood (who he became after his resurrection). I didn't vote, but I would've in favour of killing him. So I'm pretty torn on his resurrection. His death is one of the single most impactful storylines in the Batman universe (another being Barbara's spine, which might be worth its own discussion...). It changed Batman, how other heros viewed Batman, generally changed the feel of the safety of pretty core characters for the reader. And I wanted to keep all that. I liked that Batman that has to take responsibility for putting a child in danger and getting him killed. I liked that shadow that Jason's death cast on the Bat family and the way it haunts them.

However, I really enjoyed Under the Red Hood, and it remains one of my favourite arcs. And in the new 52, the mending of Jason's relationship with Bruce, and the other Robins. He's the black sheep that works great to contrast Batman (Bruce and Dick's).

Though I enjoyed the stories that are only possible through resurrection (or rebooting), I can't help but feel it takes too much away from the original story, and in many ways disrespects the original work and its reception. And what use to be a devastating turn in plot, is just an almost ridiculous trope.

How do you feel about resurrections in general? How does it change when the stories are supernatural? Any other Red Hood fans?

A little pretext. I wrote this poem in november 2017, and I slightly improved it today. I enjoy creating stories and poems are a way that I did not try much before. I don't know much about it, except the few things I learned in school and i can't remember most of it. Also english is my second language and there might be some words that don't fit in.
The changes in lines and rythm are intended to match the story.
If this does not meet the high-quality content and discussion and therefore doesn't fit in with ~, let me know and I will remove it.

To stop my rambling: Feel free to leave criticism. I plan to make poetry my hobby so any tips, comments, feedback and thoughts are appreciated.

Somewhere,
deep in the wild
Layed there,
Cold a little child.

It wasn't very long ago,
The rotten did not show,
All consuming deafening silence,
Pierced only by crows crying violent.

What happened here?
She ran from fear.
To escape the grasp,
Of the ones she hold dear.

One soul has passed before her,
Taking with his life,
The only thing she ever strived
Her mother, father and her brother
Two of these caused the disaster.

It began with a fight,
In a cold winter night,
Snow falling lightly,
And the ice growing wildly.

Suddenly the moment
when all seemed to fly
Death was potent
Coming in the blink of an eye.

Crushed by the car's roof,
Not needing any more proof.
The little boy left,
She cried over his death

Sad things passed
and bad will follow.
To escape the sorrow
Two chose their paths

Alcohol in mornings and nights,
Followed by overbearing fights,
Inbetween this shit
Was one little kid

Treated like air,
It was just not fair
Her family's break,
Was the last thing she could take

She ran into the woods,
Only on foot.
Soon she lost her trail
And soon after she wailed.

In her last thoughts
she met her god.
Looked him deep in the eye
And pierced him with a knive

Somewhere,
deep in the wild
Layed there,
Cold a little child.

Edit: Formatting mistakes

Last night before bed, I was posting about some books that I really liked. One of them is called Stay: A History of Suicide & The Philosophies Against It. Another person noted that it sounded interesting, and I started to reply to that user. I got about a paragraph in before stepping back and thinking, "this isn't something I should write here," and deleting everything.

This morning, I rolled over and checked my phone. Anthony Bourdain, died by suicide at 61.. This hurts. I loved Bourdain, his work for years was to broaden our cultural awareness and open us up to new worlds. He was, in many ways, a tangible Star Trek. His death will be mourned by thousands, and that he was taken by suicide will be considered by many, many, other people with suicidal thoughts.

Suicide spreads as a contagion - it can be looked on almost epidemiologically. The way that we talk about suicide is... Telling. It's something that we try to avoid talking about, despite us almost all knowing someone who has died by suicide.

I have worked in mental health for several years and in high acuity settings the past year. I work with people experiencing suicidal ideation every single day. It is often my job to talk around what I consider to be a monster that lives in our heads. To try and convince or guide people away from their monster and take the day for themselves. Some of the people I've worked with have ideation only, sometimes they have had as many as two dozen hospital-resulting attempts in their history. This work is stressful, it's draining. It's very meaningful, especially when change or at least the flash of change is present. It hurts, too, when it isn't enough.

A big part of our education attempts is to be able to talk about the monster. It isn't easy for someone experiencing suicidal ideation to talk about it. There are fears that they will be seen as attention seeking - they are! It is a just thing to seek attention when you feel that you're losing the battle. There are fears that they won't be taken seriously - and often they are not. We minimize our problems to bad days or bad weeks or bad years. We say, "Just get over it," and sometimes people simply do not have the capacity to do it by themselves.

We would never, ever, tell someone with a broken arm to get over it without treatment. We would never, ever, tell someone with a bone protruding from their leg that they were just looking for some attention. And yet, this is how we approach mental health.

I have been suicidal myself, somewhere in the haze of depression that clung to me for about five years. Even as I write this, I feel the urge to minimize it and say, "but never to the severity of those I've worked with." Simultaneously minimizing my own experience and serving to stigmatize those that I serve. The monster's power lies in its language. The more we refuse to talk about it, the more we isolate, the more control it has.

I went to counseling for sixteen weeks, and was only minimally invested. It took me another two years after having left counseling to start using the tools. A big part of my own ability to hold on was the book, Stay, because of its humanistic approach to prevention, one that does not rely on religion. An unfortunate thing about working in mental health is that I now understand what it is to plant a seed and not know if it will grow or not.

Anyway, I wanted to write something about this when I saw the news this morning. One of the major themes of Stay is that suicide is theft not just from your friends and family, but from yourself. I have not felt suicidal or depressed for several years, and I can say that this theft would have been true. Except it doesn't include just my friends or family, but the people that I've interacted with and helped with similar thinking styles along the way.

I encourage you, if you think a friend or colleague is struggling, ask the questions. "How are you feeling today?" You never know how this might help. Do you feel like someone you know might be suicidal? Ask the question. Asking someone if they are feeling suicidal is not a significant trigger that may cause them to commit - though this fear often stops us from asking. Consider, they live with the monster every day, how welcome it must be to have someone else recognize it?

I will leave off with Hamlet's Soliloquy. I have never been huge on Shakespeare, lacking time to read. I read this as well in Stay, and now I listen to it frequently. I even had the opportunity to use it in a Group I lead the other day.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xYZHb2xo0OI