My grandmother’s eldest sister took up with goyim. Married a Catholic or something. Grandma remembers being not very old when she came by one day and Poppa wouldn’t let her in the door. He said, “You’re dead to me. Never come back.” He came to regret it later, but that’s another story.
Say it once or twice: “you’re dead to me.” It’s an odd phrase. It almost makes you feel dead.
[Photo: Flickr, DashingYankee]
Are you dead to anyone? I know I am, but I’m not entirely sure to whom. When you’re dead to someone, you don’t always get a formal statement, a doorway confrontation, a goodbye ceremony with bell, book and candle. I’d say, rarely. You just stop calling and they stop calling and nobody picks up the friendship and it dies.
No bedside vigil. No funeral. No sobbing relatives, no memorial service. Just… gone.