In one of my favorite poems, Emily Dickinson wrote about how her "life closed twice before its close" and in the following stanza, described in such stark, affecting words --
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,Like all other Dickinson poems, it isn't clear what exactly Dickinson was referring to or what her point was. However, upon close examination, this poem isn't about facing death per se. Actually, Dickinson was simply trying to capture with words the sense of loss she felt when two people, who were very much a significant part of her life, passed away within a short while of each other.
As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.
No -- I'm not going to lecture on poetry techniques or interpretation (I'm certainly not qualified to do so! LOL) but rather, I think that whenever I broach the subject of death, I get all flustered and unsure, and my words even start to go around in circles. Suffice to say, talking about death, or even thinking about it, makes me feel uneasy.
So why am I talking about it tonight? Well, you see, I just got word from a friend earlier today that his grandmother had passed away at the hospital; and he coincidentally just paid her a visit there last night after several days of putting it off due to a busy schedule. Hence, it was very fortunate that he did; if he hadn't, I'm sure he would never be able to live with the guilt of not making the time to see her at all. This has, inevitably, unleashed a truckload of memories which are proving very difficult for me to ignore...
Lucy Maud Montgomery once wrote in one of her novels that the sorrow caused by losing a loved one is the kind that alienates anyone else who isn't personally involved in the grieving. It is indeed very true, and I have the experiences to show for it. In fact, I still haven't gotten over the demise of my father half a decade ago, or the reality that I almost lost my younger brother to lupus barely a year after that. These two consecutive events nearly gave me a nervous breakdown (as if it hadn't already!) and paraphrasing Dickinson, was close to a living hell for me. Alhamdulillah, thank God, my bro managed to survive that ordeal and am now quite alive and kicking, though prone to a relapse every now and then. He's quite an aggravating brat too, which sometimes had me thinking furtively that he was much better behaved when he was ill! Hehe.
I know a number of close friends who have suffered a similar loss, but sometimes I think the circumstances for me were rather different... For instance, I still remember those days when I would rush down after my lectures to SGH to visit my dad in ICU, and I had to practically do my assignments in the waiting area with my textbook propped on my knees. I also remember, after he was discharged and allowed to covalesce at home, rushing to and fro to the neighbourhood clinic whenever his feeding tube came off by accident. I remember too vividly, those nights when I studied for my exams at the hospital after he was re-warded, and him, connected to all those tubes and machines which were all that stood between him and the certainty of death. And how could I ever forget that moment when the night-shift doctor predicted that Dad would die in a matter of hours and I was the only one around to hear those words because everyone else had gone home to rest? Anyone who ever complained of loneliness (due to lack of companionship), would never be able to imagine the kind of loneliness I felt then.
So who could blame me for not wanting to re-live these painful, painful memories? The very subject of death, the very thought of it, fills me with dread, and for the greater part, with remorse. But perhaps, by confessing these details here, making it all seem as matter as fact as possible, might serve as a temporary exorcism on my part. Trust me, I am not trying to win any sympathy votes.
I am amazed how people in our country can go through their daily lives as per normal -- rejoicing over the winner of Project Superstar, mulling over toto results, laughing hysterically at the movies -- when, even at this instant, news of death is being reported by all forms of existing media from all corners of the world. In the US, thousands upon thousands of lives are lost to hurricane Katrina, while thousands upon thousands more are left behind to pick up the remnants of their lives and move on without their loved ones. Just today, I watched, horrified, at the devastation caused by a plane crash in Medan which had robbed a hundred-odd unsuspecting people of their lives. In some African countries, thousands die everyday of starvation.
Life. So fleeting. So ephemeral. Yet so many are in such a wanton disregard of it. So many do not pay heed to it. I've heard it said once that you will never know the true meaning of life until you have been touched by its antithesis, death. So show me those fools who toy with the idea of death -- the suicidal manic-depressive, the kamikaze warrior, the angsty rebel -- and I will give them scant attention. Death? They don't even know what it means...
