My first concrete encounter with death
I was reading the journal entries that have been proposed on the class blog, and when I read Write about your first experience with death. Who died? When? What did you know about death before the event, and what did you know after?, I had a huge Flashback.
When I was around ten or nine years old, a very good friend of mine from primary school lost his two year old brother, so I decided to go to the funeral and pay my respects. As soon as I got to the funeral home, I went to find my friend, and his devastating face was heart-wrecking.
I had known the family for many years, and I was quite fond of them too. So me and my curiosity went to the seperate room in which his tiny body lay eternally resting on the coffin. I grew closer to the casket until I could see him completely. He had died from severe chicken pox, so his face was full of pink and red spots. In that moment my heart beat went faster and faster, so I left the room, and before I left it completely, I saw my friends' grandma and I can't remember exactly but she grabbed my hand and said something to me. Once again, her wrinkled face with that sad looking image was smashing my heart in pieces.
After that I just headed for the front door and I stayed there talking to another friend, and soon my tears came.
That was my first true encounter with death, since I hadn't gone to my grandpa's funeral because I was too little, but I knew what death implied and it's consequences. However, the impact of seeing the body was what made the difference from what I knew and didn't before and after.
Through other experiences that I've had in the past, I've learned that no matter who the person was, if I knew him/her or not, death always grabs a piece of my heart and pinches it. Sadness and tears overcome me in those moments no matter what.
3 comments:
Many years ago my uncle died when I was out of the country. I was unable to attend his funeral. For years afterwards, I would dream - the most vivid of dreams - that he was still alive. And I would be elated to see him again. Unfortunately, when I awoke, the reality of his death would face me again. I agree, seeing the body does bring death home to you. In the abstract, it is hard to resolve/internalize.
Almost two years ago, as you know, my father died. He had been really ill, cancer had devorated him. That day I was alone at home when I came from school to have lunch and I decided I was going to stay at home because I was too tired. I didn't even call my mom to ask her if I could, I just felt it was the right thing to do. But I couldn't sleep, I just had so many things going on in my mind.
Then, my sister arrived home and she told me the doctors had said that he wouldn't live more than that day. So I went to the hospital to be with him, even though it hurted me so much to see him like that.
He died at 5 PM that afternoon, but he waited for my grandma to get to the hospital and he ensured that I wasn't there the moment it happended. I was having a coke in a bar near the hospital when I recieved a phone call from my sister. You can imagine why she was calling me...
That night, when I saw that big, quite bold, tall, fat man laying in his coffin I was shocked. But then, I looked at him carefully and I realized I haven't seen so calmed and peaceful ever in my entire life. So I was glad for him because he had finally found what he had been wishing for about four months. With this I'm not telling it didn't heart, because sometimes it still does but what I try to do is to remember the very little nice memories I have about him.
Reading your entry reminded me of my own first funeral when my grandma died. And, of course, later on when important and very much loved people died, I got a close taste of death's sour fruit. The feeling of loss can be devastating, and the extent to which it can change our life depends on how one can deal with the different stages of pain. I have come to see our body as a mere repository of the intangible, of the essence some call soul or spirit, and others, mind. Our body like a plant has its predetermined cycle and our only certainty is its final demise. Shortly before that, our withered limbs can only hold a faint idea of transcendence through faith and its reassuring message whispered in our ear: 'God exists.' Meanwhile, amid the rush and routine, I guess we can transcend by simply seizing the moment, and here and there being able to find peace.
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