The closest I've ever been to facing my own mortality was in February when I had that
reaction to Savella.
The thought of my death has really never bothered me. I actually find comfort in the fact that someday my suffering will end. And I'm trying my best to make sure I don't foul up my karma so I don't end up worse than I am now. Without thinking, I wanted to survive that Savella disaster. I went to the doctor and got treatment and followed the instructions given to the letter.
When I've felt suicidal in the past, I've asked for help. I've had a stay in the
psych ward, and participated in a
partial hospitalization program. I do have a strong survival instinct.
A quote from Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan keeps running through my head. It's after Spock's death, when Kirk is visited by his son David:
David: Lieutenant Saavik was right: You never have faced death.
Kirk: No. Not like this. I haven't faced death. I've cheated death. I've tricked my way out of death and patted myself on the back for my ingenuity. I know nothing.
David: You knew enough to tell Saavik that how we face death is at least as important as how we face life.
Kirk: Just words.
David: But good words. That's where ideas begin. Maybe you should listen to them.
I remember when my Grandma K died, I was sad, but more relieved. She had a heart attack around Thanksgiving 2002 and died before Christmas of that year. It was hard to see her in obvious pain. I saw what it was doing to my mom. I cried during the funeral (which was on my brother Justin's birthday). I eventually moved in to her place (where I am now), and it was definitely odd making it my place. There are still some touches of my Grandma around, especially in the kitchen. After all, that's where she'd keep the cookie dough for my brothers and me. The last couple of years I've missed her more and more. I brought her up at Christmas, saying that I missed her.
My dad's family has had a lot of death. He lost his second oldest sister in a car accident soon after she was married. His dad, my grandfather, died I think shortly after Eli was born. Dad lost his brother when I was in grade school--I remember that but was too young to really understand.
So I've really never known death.
Not like this.
Not like I'm feeling now.
This past week I've been on edge. I've needed anti-anxiety pills, especially as I try to fall asleep. I try to wrap my head around Amy and Leo, and why he has to die, and why she has to lose her best friend and husband, and their kids lose their daddy.
The other night I curled up around Alex, and I talked to her. I told her everything that was going on in my head. The whys. The hows. The what happens.
Then the M*A*S*H episode "Follies of the Living--Concerns of the Dead" came on. It's about a soldier, Weston, who died but then doesn't go to an afterlife right away, but roams around the camp. He goes to his best friend Hicks, who is recovering in post-op, and is talking to Father Mulcahy. Hicks tells Mulcahy that he just doesn't know the point of anything if a good, decent guy like Weston can be killed. Mulcahy replies, quoting and paraphrasing
Job 38.
1 Then the LORD spoke to Job out of the storm. He said:
2 “Who is this that obscures my plans
with words without knowledge?
3 Brace yourself like a man;
I will question you,
and you shall answer me.
4 “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?
Tell me, if you understand.
Now I'm not sure if there is a God/Goddess/some Divine Being, but this scene from M*A*S*H reminded me that maybe, just maybe, all of this makes sense. All the suffering, all the death. All the kindness, all the love. It's part of a big picture. Regardless of any divine plan, it reminds me also that there are questions that we just don't have answers to.
Amy and her family are really relying on their faith to help comfort them during this time. Amy and Leo have always accepted that his cancer was apart of God's plan. I'm glad they have that belief that works for them. To them, there is no question that Leo is in Heaven with God and Jesus. They also know they will be reunited with him upon their own deaths.
Since I lean towards the Buddhist side of things, I went to Google. I found a funeral reading entitled "White Ashes" by Rennyo Shonin. The full text is
found here, but I am gonna quote a few lines:
"Now, if we look realistically at the nature of human life, we see that it is fleeting and unpredictable, illusive almost. Birth, life and death pass by in the twinkling of an eye. Thus we never hear of the human body lasting for ten thousand years...
"Thus our bodies may be radiant with health in the morning, but by evening they may be white ashes. If the right causes and conditions prevail, our two eyes are closed forever, our breathing ceases and our bodies lose the glow of life. Our relatives in great numbers and with great wealth can assemble, but they are powerless to change our situation. Even the rites and rituals of grief and mourning change nothing. All we can do is prepare the body for cremation; all that is left is white ashes."
This brought me great comfort. I'm going to make a note of it for it to be read when I die.
As sadden as I am about Leo's passing, my heart aches for Amy and the kids. I'm truly devastated. I can't imagine what they're going through. Or Leo's parents, losing their son. Amy, who is the strongest person I know, will deal with whatever needs to be dealt with and provide the best for the kids. I remember being at Amy's bridal shower and bachelorette party. She was so in love with Leo and that never faded--it only got stronger. I can't imagine the void she now has in her life. It breaks my heart. I just...there are no words. She has a wonderful support system, which will help, but things will never be the same. Things aren't as they should be.
Leo, wherever you are, in whatever form, I do sincerely hope you are at peace and free of suffering. You were an amazing husband and father. You had a wonderful sense of humor that you kept til the very end. You inspired, and inspire, me--as sick as you were, you always gave of yourself and expected nothing in return. You didn't dwell on your illness, but worked hard to adapt and thrive in the ways that you could. We lost you way too soon. However, your impact on all of us will never be forgotten. You will live on in the hearts of those who loved you. We all are better people for knowing you. Thank you, Leo. You will always be missed.
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| Via Google Images |
