Those We Leave Behind

(align:"==><=")[THOSE LEFT BEHIND [[Artistic Statement]] [[Trigger Warning]] [[Begin]]]

"It's all fine to say, 'Time will heal everything, this too shall pass away. People will forget'-and things like that when you are not involved, but when you are there is no passage of time, people do not forget and you are in the middle of something that does not change." -John Steinbeck, //Cannery Row// Without giving too much away, this prototype focuses on the aftermath of the death of a loved one, grief, and, ultimately, the healing process. As such, this should not be considered as a traditional game, but instead as an "experimental game" (Jagoda). Within this notion of being an experimental game, it is less of a game and more like an experience, similar to David O' Reilly's //Mountain//. This prototype, while having a continuous and streamlined narrative, is ultimately tumultuous in its execution, reflecting the differing emotions and moods present during the grieving process. Within these moods, different objects and places develop their own psychogeograhpical relationships with the protagonist, expanding and changing throughout the course of the game. This implementation of psychogeography was inspired by Geography of Robots' //Norco//, which utilized a similar concept, albeit in the form of a "Mind Map." The main concern I had when creating this game was that, because it is a very personal subject to me and very autobiographical in nature, that it would not resonate with a wider audience. With that being said, this game is not designed to be a definitive portrayal of grief, but rather one way grief can manifest itself within a person. I hope you enjoy this game.

First Meditation: [[Death]]

Death... [[can be]] [[is]]

Time... [[used to be]] [[is now]]

You... [[were]] [[are]]

Death can be a tranquil experience for the person dying. All pain is taken from you. The burdens of this life are lifted from your shoulders. Regardless of whether or not you go anywhere afterwards, death can be a reprieve. Death can be freeing.

Death is an awful experience to those who are left behind. The aftermath of watching someone suffer, either instantaneously over prolonged, does damage to those who watch. You want to be happy for them. Death frees them from their struggles and their hardships. But all death does for you is shackle and chain. There is no escape for you. Not until your own death at least. Second Meditation: [[Time]]

Time used to be slower. Days would inch on. Boredom would set in. You used to yearn for other things to do beside waste away in a classroom or doing chores. You thought you had all the time in the world resting in the palm of your hand.

Time is now nonexistent. The days come and ago, melting and congealing together. You can't differentiate them now. You now yearn for boredom. The wasting is still present, though. That will always remain. The daylight burns away and so does the midnight oil. Perhaps this is the true nature of time. Third Meditation: [[You]]

You are not the same person you used to be. You really can't remember who you used to be. What little things do stand out to you don't really align with yourself right now. Maybe you're not yourself anymore. Maybe all you are is just a [[replica]].

You were... Well you really can't remeber. The flow of time erased any distinct memories. Some highlights are present in fragments, though. A [[swingset]] in you backyard you used to grow plants in. Cutting [[holes]] in your clothes because you got bored. The [[woods]] down the street from your house. You can't really remember where you have been. You can only really suspect where you are going.

Your father and grandfather built the swingset for you when you were four-years-old. You loved it a lot. It had a ladder leading up to a room connected to a slide. The swings were attached on the side. You used to always draw back from the world and sit and read in the room. Or you would play with your toys. Or you would tend to some potted plants you kept up there. You spent a great deal of time in there.

Your parents were very upset about this. They didn't understand what possessed you to do that or why you did it in the first place. You told them you did it because you were bored. They did not like that answer very much.

Always walks in the woods. Never anything but walking in the woods. That's all your dad wanted to do. You would have rather done anything else, though. You never found the woods exciting or entertaining. You would try to make up some stories to liven up the atmosphere. Your dad told you to be quiet and just enjoy the woods for what they were.

Your reflection stares back at you from the bathroom mirror. You're dressed in all black, prepaing to go to your father's funeral. You try to contort your face into an expression of sadness. Currently, you look very [[angry]] [[indifferent]]

Your expression reads of anger. You're mad. Extremely mad. Your father has just died. There was still so much you didn't know about him that [[only he could tell you.]] He had so much wisdom he could give. So much advice to impart. But now it's all gone, [[burned up]] with the rest of his body. After a few minutes of trying to fix your face, you give up. It's time to go to the [[funeral]] anyway.

Your expression reads of indifference. Your father has just died. You barely knew him. He was there, but he was distant. He never said much. Any wise words or profundities were [[burned up]] with the rest of his body. After a few minutes of trying to fix your face, you give up. It's time to go to the [[funeral]] anyway.

His father died when your father was 8. His brother died nine years ago. His mother is still alive, but her memory has steadily deteriorated over the years. You couldn't get a straight answer out of her even if you tried.

Your father refused to be buried. He wanted to be cremated. From dust we came, to dust we shall return.

You're shocked by the amount of people who attend the funeral. You knew your father was important to a lot of people. You just never did realize how [[special]] he actually was. People come and go, appearing as shouts and vanishing as whispers. Most of the people here introduce themselves as family. They say it's good to see you after all these years and how much you've grown. You smile and thank them for their condolensces and for coming to the service. But you just have one question every time you meet someone: [[who are you? ]] The night drifts on, uneventful. You take solace in that, though. The past few weeks have left you tossed alone on an endless sea. This night is a welcome reprieve. As the night winds down, you find yourself standing before a makeshift [[memorial]] for your father. Eventually, all of the extraneous people leave, and you're left with just your family. You all silently pack up your father's things and prepare to leave. As you walk out of the door of the funeral home, you whisper a goodbye. You place the boxes into your mother's car and start the drive [[home]].

He was special to you, too, of course. You just feel so many different emotions toward him. You loved him, undoubtedly. Not just because he was your father, but because he loved you as well. You were sad when he passed. Because you loved him. And because he held the key to so much knowledge about your heritage and life itself. Now, it's gone. You have such affection for him, but there are other emotions there as well. Anger, mostly. You try not be mad at him, but sometimes it's very easy to be. You're not entirely sure why you're mad, though.

Your father always mentioned far-off relatives. You'd hoped he would eventually introduce them to you, or you could at least meet them under better circumstances. But here, the names and faces all congeal together. There is no separation. The different limbs of the family tree seemed to have formed one never ending branch. You really wish your dad was here to help you sort through the leaves.

Different articles of your fathers life are spread before you. [[His Letterman jacket]] [[An achievement award]] [[Redwing Boots]] A few pieces of the puzzle, but the other pieces are still unknown.

Your father was the quarterback on his high school football team. He apparently was very good at it, too. He always wanted you to play, but you were never really interested. Sports, in general, never really interested you. You felt more akin to reading and telling stories. You loved creating things will building blocks and TinkerToys. Just one of the many ways you were different.

A plaque commemorating your father's twenty-five years of employment. He worked in the Forestry Industry, specifically at a corporation that turned wood-pulp into paper products. He was a hard working man. Always had been. You and your father were very different people, but you both agreed on one thing: the only person who is going to take care of you is yourself.

He laways wore Redwing Boots everywhere. You're not even sure he owned any others pairs of shoes. As you look down at the shoes, it sets in that these are your shoes to fill now. But, in a way, you've been preparing for this moment your whole life. Ever since you were younger, your father would tell you that you needed to take care of things while he was gone. You don't really let it show, but there's something kind of unsettling about telling a three-year-old that.

Home is an interesting concept. Some people say it's a place. Others, it's people. But you, you believe home to fall somewhere inbetween. A place with the people you love. You know your home like the back of your hand. Unlike your father, there a no secrets left here to be discovered. But the meanings of things sometimes can. With those changing meanings, your perspective also changes. No consistency. It's all very inconvenient. But, it still is your [[house]].

You wake from a dreamless sleep and glance at the clock. It's around 10:00 A.M. You contemplate trying to sleep for a few more minutes, but you decide against it. After the funeral last night, you now have other responsibilities. You crawl out of bed and get dressed in the dark. You have a great disdain for light in the morning. It's almost vampiric. You walk down the hallway towards the kitchen, expecting to find you mother there. When you walk in, you don't find her there. You call out for her and there is no response. Glancing around the kitchen, you spot a [[note]] laying on the countertop.

Hey kid! Sorry I didn't wake you before I left. I figured you could use some sleep. I had some errands to run, so if you didn't mind doing the things on this list, I would really appreciate it. Love, Mom You turn the note over and see a [[list]] of tasks.

First item on the list: [[Fold the laundry]]

You remove the vacuum from the storage room and roll it down the hallway toward the office. You turn on the light and are taken aback by the [[clutter]] in the room. You ignore the mess and switch on the vacuum cleaner. You attempt to clean what little carpet space is visible, but there's not much to clean. After a few minutes, you eventually give up. You decide that what you've done is good enough. After you finish vacuuming the office, you move onto the third item on the list: [[Clean the door in the foyer]]

You retrieve the Pledge and a dusting rag from the storage room and make your way to the living room. You decide the start by dusting the mantle over the fireplace and working your way around the room in a clockwise-manner. After cleaning some shelves and a few endtables, you reach the [[bookcase]]. You dust it off quickly to finish the room. When you finish dusting the living room, you check to see what else there is on the [[list ]]

You open the door to the laundry room and spy the basket of clothes on the floor. You carry it out of the laundry room and into the den, planning to watch some TV while you fold. You reach the den and sit down on the [[couch]] to fold the laundry. As you sit there, your discomfort grows more and more. You eventually abandon the couch and fold the clothes while sitting on the floor. After you finish folding the laundry, you move onto the second item on the list: [[Vacuum the office]].

Sitting here feels weird. This was //his// couch after alL. He always sat on this couch when he ate dinner. He always sat here when he watched TV (usually //The Walking Dead//). He slept on this couch a lot. He eventually retired to this couch, permanently reclined because he was in so much pain. He took his last breaths on this couch before leaving the world behind. And now you're sitting here. It shouldn't bother you to sit here, but it does. It bothers you a lot. You just can't figure out why.

You grab the glass cleaner and a cleaning cloth from the storage room and walk to the foyer. You spray some of the cleaner on the glass door and set the bottle on the [[rug]] underneath your feet. It's very tedious work trying to clean the door. It's not just a solid pane of glass, but rather multiple glass fragments cut through with strips of metal and wood. There is no solid connection between the pieces of glass. You laugh to yourself because, in some twisted way, it reminds you of your own memories: parts you can clearly remember, but mainly dark gaps. Thinking about it more, you're unsure why you're laughing. After you finish cleaning the door, you move on to the fourth item on the list: [[Dust the living room]]

On a Saturday a few months before, you, your mother, and your father cleaned out your father's office at work. It was an all day affair, but you all eventually got it all cleared out. Your father's work had placed him on full-time medical leave, You didn't understand why, though. You were so sure your father would bounce right back. Would be okay. Would live. Looking back, you don't know if you were just extremely optimistic or just stupid.

This rug has been here ever since you were a child. It's seen some good times and also some dark days. Your sixteenth birthday was one of those dark days. Most parents get their children a car for their sixteenth birthday or throw them a lavish party. Instead your father took that day as a wonderful opportunity to tell you flat out that he was going to die soon. You didn't show any emotion toward him when he said that. You simply came back inside through the foyer, laid on the rug, and cried. Happy Birthday to you.

Staring back at you from the glass cabinet in the center is your father. Well, his urns at least. Anger and indifference rush in simultaneously. You're indiffierent toward him now because you didn't really know him. You're also really angry because you didn't really know him. You loved him, too. But fow now, you're just processing your anger.

List of Reasons Why You're Angry with Your Father: [[He didn't communicate]] [[He put a lot of pressure on you]] [[He left you]]

He would talk, and you would listen. But there was no communication. He never spoke of things that mattered. He always talked about the news and the weather. He never spoke of family, or his friends, or anything pertaining to before you knew him. You always hoped he would. But he only spoke of unimportant things.

He left you... [[Without direction]] [[Alone]]

He traveled a lot for work, mainly to the West Coast. When you were older, he didn't travel as much, but when you were younger, he would travel all the time. Always leaving you at home, telling you to take care of things. That you were the man of the house while he was gone. But you weren't a man. You were just a child.

Before he died, your mother told him to write you letters aboout life. He never did, though. He died with all of his wisdom. Did he not want to? Did he not care? You don't really know. But every time you think about it, it makes you angry.

You tried so hard to get to know him, to be close to him. He always shut you down, though. After he was diagnosed, you tried even harder. But he wouldn't let you close to him. You put everyone else aside to try and fomr a bond with him. And he wouldn't let you. He [[left]] you alone.

You're in his childhood bedroom sorting through some of his things. Another thing about your father you never quite understood was his tendency to be a hoarder. Boxes upon boxes of artifacts from his life. Closet racks filled with his clothes. Under his bed you spy an inconspicuous white [[box]].

You pull the box out from under the bed. It has no labeling. You figure it's probably full of more junk to throw away. Still, you feel like you should open it. The contents of the box are perplexing. A lot of them seem to be various [[papers]]. But at the bottom of the box, lies a [[journal]].

Looking through the stack of papers reveals a collection of various student awards: Best Penmanship, Perfect Attendance, Academic Excellence. As with the other things, your father never mentioned winning any of these either. He was a very wise man, but never gave an indication he had done exceptionally well in school. Yet, it's all here in front of you.

You dust off the leather cover and turn to the first page. September 14, 1985 "We won the Football game last night, 42-28. Sad that it's my last season. At least I have basketball and baseball to look forward to next semester. Was really down after the game last night because I fumbled the ball a few times, but Mark's party helped lift my spirits. Mom's out of the house this weekend, so I'm planning on having one tonight." [[Continue Reading]]

You flip forward in the journal. December 26, 1985 "Had Christmas yesterday. Opened gifts with mom here first, then we went over to my brother's house. He and his wife seemed to be good. They didn't fight in front of us at least. Their kids seemed to be good as well. The oldest seems to be a spitting image of her parents: loud and abrasive. The younger one, though, is calmer. She'll go far in life." [[Continue Reading ]]

You flip forward some more in the journal. April 13, 1986 "Had the pageant last night. I don't get how I ever got Charlene to convince me to do it, but I did. It worked out well, though: I got third place. No one can say I don't look good.'' [[Close the journal]]

You never knew any of this. You knew he played football, but not basketball or baseball. You had no idea that, even back then, that your dad could see the difference between his [[nieces]]. You didn't know that your dad competed in his high school's male beauty pageant. He never told you any of this. You spy another box under the bed. Opening it, you find more journals. Your father may not have told you any of this, but he left a great [[record]].

You search the rest of the boxes in his room and find more journals, starting from his ninth grade year all the way up to when he met your mother. Every day is meticulously catalogued. You're taken aback by this discovery. Every thing you could have possibly wanted him to tell you is all in a stack of leatherbound books. An ultimate [[reflection]] of his life.

First reflection: [[Your father]]

What's more to say about him? Do you still feel some anger towards him for being distant while he was alive? Yes. Do you wish you could have been closer to him in life than in death? Absolutely. Do you love him any less? Not for a moment. While he may not have been emotionally avaliable to you when he was alive, he still loved you. That is very evident from these journals. He loved you enough to write it all down for you. He loved you enough to leave it all behind. Second reflection: [[You ]]

You... [[were ]] [[are ]]

You were once angry with your father for his behavior toward you while he was alive. You were once angry with him because you tried so hard to be close with him, but he would always push you away. You were once angry with your father because you believed he had left you behind with no pieces left of him and nowhere to go moving forward. You were once angry.

You are still dealing with your father's death and each day brings some new challenge. You are looking back differently at your relationship with your father and each time you find more evidence of how much he truly cared about you. You are hopeful that he would be proud of who you are today and all you've accomplished. You are moving forward.

This game deals entirely with the aftermath of the death of a loved one, specifically a death caused by terminal cancer. If this subject matter is potentially triggering to you, it is advised to proceed with caution or to not play this game.

Your father had spent a large portion of his adult life taking care of his mother, but towards the end, he entrusted her care to his younger niece. He knew she would do a good job taking care of his mother.