Today, I watched someone die. I didn’t actually witness his last breath, but I saw most of the journey unfold before my eyes. I have had people I love leave this Earth many times, as I’m sure many people have, but I had never before been there to watch the final steps toward the door to eternity.
I have always had a more philosophical than emotional outlook where death is concerned. I learned this in earnest when my own father passed away suddenly. My mother called me in shock, and I had to make a twenty-four hour drive to get to her side. On that trip, with my wife sleeping next to me, I had more than enough time to ponder what it is that we, as humans, cling to, and I thought I had the answer down pat. I did, but only in that one instance. The rest I was wrong about.
Watching someone who was usually vibrant slowly succumb to the ravages of cancer was a lesson in humility, to be sure. Watching how the surrender accelerates exponentially near the end reminded me of fruit spoiling in the late summer sun. But it is that very analogy that drew me to write this. It may not be unique in the world, but it is at least in mine.
Most of us have a base understanding that the body is a vehicle to carry the soul, but it takes special powers for any of us to recognize a soul when we encounter it. No, it is the outer shell we recognize, and it is the shell we see wither at life’s end. We know that we shall never “gaze upon that countenance again”, and I believe this is the ultimate source of our grieving. It is also, unfortunately, the last images emblazoned on our memory, despite our best efforts to remember only the good.
What I truly realized today, however, is not the physical nature of the end of life but rather, our human uniqueness in how we deal with it emotionally. We view even the most common occurances on an emotional level, and I suppose I should be thankful that we have that to separate us from the rest of the animal world. We suffer emotional stress at the end of almost everything we find enjoyable, albeit to different degrees. My own trauma, if you will, has always been at the change from summer to winter, when the vibrance of the foliage and the long, warm days can no longer stave off the onset of a more dreary landscape.
What I saw today was not so dissimilar. Today, I watched the last brown leaf release its fragile grip and slowly drift to the ground. And I am saddened.
