They say that the older you get, the more you tend to think about your own mortality. Well, I'll be 61 tomorrow and, having come pretty damn close to it almost 4 years ago, I don't pay much attention to Death. And yet I find myself addressing this topic because it just hit pretty damn close to home and I realize that I have some questions.
In literature, Death has been seen differently by different people.
Emily Dickinson wrote of it:
" Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;"
Giving the impression that you can try to ignore Death but you have to accept him .
Dylan Thomas had a different take:
"Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Giving the impression that although you can't ignore Death you sure as hell can fight him.
These seem to be opposing views of the same subject. What does that mean? To me it means that, perhaps Death is different for each of us, that rules can't be applied to him.
Now, let me point out a few people who I've posted about on FaceBook since the beginning of June. See if you can guess what they have in common.
June 2 - Richard Dawson, 79, TV actor/host
June 5 - Ray Bradbury, 91, writer
June 8 - Frank Cady, 96, TV actor
July 3 - Andy Griffith, 86, actor
July 8 - Ernest Borgnine, 95, actor
July 23 - Sally Ride, 61, astronaut
July 24 - Sherman Hemsley, 74, TV actor
August 1 - Gore Vidal, 86, writer
August 12 - Joe Kubert, 85, artist
That's right. Every one of these represents a piece of my life, a chip out of the bedrock of my past. These actors, writers, and the one astronaut entertained and enthralled me as I grew up. And, of course, they all died recently.
Also, every one of them has died at a fairly advanced age. They had the chance to live the lives they wanted. They had the chance to take risks, make mistakes, love and be loved.
They had the chance.
This brings me to my point. Over the weekend a member of the family died. There was no horrible accident; there had been no lengthy illness; in fact, there had been no sign of illness at all. He, simply, died.
He was 25. He didn't get to have the chance. And I don't understand.
Look at that list of names again. These were famous people. During those same 10 weeks there were hundred of others who died, regular people who were not as famous, but they had the chance. Why should this one young man on the threshold of life be the one to die, to lose the chance? Why?
I don't know.
If it had been due to an accident or an illness we would still grieve but there would be an answer. Here, we don't have one. Just a hole where a young man used to be. A son, a brother, a nephew, a cousin, a friend. Why?
I don't know.
As Christians - as Catholics - we're told that God works in mysterious ways. There are hymns and prayers, there will be a homily, all meant to provide comfort, to give solace. We accept the words, because we've been raised that way. Do they help? When I think of the grieving parents, I have my doubts. After all, what can you do? Kneel before the altar begging and weeping, or stand there yelling and cursing? I don't think it would make a difference. And it wouldn't change anything. I was raised in the New Testament of Faith, Hope, Charity, and Love. This seems so Old Testament to me. A test of Faith? Why?
I don't know.
I'm a parent, too. I can pretend to know what they are going through but I know, deep down, that I really can't. And, frankly, I don't want to. I don't want to lose my child. Ever. I don't know what it would do to me. But I can see what it's doing to them and it breaks my heart.
The way I see it, it comes down to this. The natural order should be that you live your life, raise your family, grow old, and when you die your children bury you. A parent should never have to bury a child. It isn't natural.
But there are no rules in Death. And those questions I have...well, there really is only one. Why? And the answer is...
I don't know.
And this will remain something I don't understand.
Rest in peace, Daniel.
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