Talha Gondal, Period 1, 4/29/22

 Whether an off-strain of rabies or the fantastical reanimation of the dearly deceased, a true tale of zombies is never about the zombies themselves. Ironically enough, as the human cast dwindles we learn more and more about what defines our humanity. In some, goodness shines through. The opposite is true, of course, as we discover too what makes us animals—stray wolves only concerned with survival. But whichever face of humanity is braved in the apocalypse, one reality persists—the experience of loss. It is in how we deal with such loss that we discover our truest selves, and so in this writing I’ve set out to explore a version of loss perhaps unique to the zombie genre.

I find myself defining grief as the absence of something that once brought joy, but of course my definition of grief is limited to my experiences of that absence. Perhaps I’ve grown apart from dear friends in the past. Perhaps I’ve missed my childhood home or laughs shared with neighbors now far out of reach. Perhaps I’ve felt the fading of someone whom I thought could have been something more, but I have never, and thankfully so, experienced the death of a loved one. So perhaps my understanding of grief is incomplete, but I don’t fail to recognize its role in the healing that follows a life’s passing. To grieve is to embark on a path of weeds and thorns, caring not to trip on roots and hoping not to lose yourself along the way. The broken would not tread such a path if not for the treasures at the road’s end. As much as grief is decorated with darkness, it offers a step towards peace. In grief lies moments of reflection that bring us towards bettering ourselves and returning to a life before death had found its way to our door.

It seems, however, that grief is powerless to the walking dead. Death is not a courtesy extended to the billions lost to a plagued, re-animated world. The mourner wonders if those he’s grieving are truly the ones he’s lost as they become something else entirely. His memories of the departed are polluted with images of rotting flesh and rabid faces. Losing someone while they’re still “alive” is a twisted fate. For many in our world, it’s felt as a loved one becomes a shadow of themselves, perhaps consumed by their work or swallowed up by addiction. Hatred and fear clutch the bereaved before grief could offer its warm embrace, however bitter it may be. There is no peace at the end of their journey of grief, as faith in “a better place” dwindles into uncertainty and a shadow of doubt overcomes any remaining hopes for reunion.

In all its darkness, death is as well the light at the end of the tunnel. For many, the death of a loved one ensures their place in a heavenly kingdom, their reunion with loved ones, or perhaps their return to the cycle of life. Faith and philosophy find their place in the mourning of billions across humanity’s brief chapter in this world. There is art in reconciliation that follows death—and humanity has mastered that art. We’ve learned to grieve the dead, but how do you possibly grieve the undead?