Death and Wonder
My grandfather's dying. The last few months have left him in and out of hospitals and nursing homes, scarred from surgical incisions and dialysis procedures. He keeps his humor, but it sneaks out like tired sighs between breaths. He works out by leaving chairs and meandering through the house from his bed to the breakfast table. Hospital visits, medication, and daily intervention delay the final fall of his twilight years. It's only a matter of time.
This past year my father and I delivered a gift of food to a family friend who had lost her father. The same careworn lines and red eyes I've come to expect met us at the door. We handed the food over, hugged, and talked. I didn't know what to say, my tongue silenced when I realized how deep her struggle ran and how powerless I was to swim that depth. I stood by.
As time and experience grow, death loses its sharpness, but not its grip. A college campus glows with vitality, surrounded by youthful students dead-set on living, engrossed by dreams, and laughing as if life itself has no conclusion. But it does.
I have a closer brush than most my age, having attempted suicide before and contemplated it multiple times. Suicide leaves an aftertaste that never leaves. Standing on the precipice, before the maw of death, makes one shellshocked. The vision never leaves, the astringent taste lingering like a fine pulp through the years.
It can be haunting, but in many ways, it's liberating. The frail troubles of life lose their power. Drama seems pointless. A poor examination grade doesn't bother. A criticism or rumor--even larger problems of money and work--lose some of their power. They fall apart like nightmares in the face of day. Age and death ring out clear, "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity and chasing after wind."
Instead, one sees the beauty life brings. Many mornings on my way to breakfast I pause and watch the sun rise, so thankful to be present to that beauty. When I see the sun set, I can't describe the feeling, as if all the earth is a masterpiece colored and mixed in endless light and contrast. Falling leaves whisper like poems, frost like a hushed adagio. The smiles on young faces and the warmth of old eyes send a rush joy throughout my frame
Like a lovesick teenager I want to tell my love to the world, hold her close, and never let go. Spend my night encased in her tender arms and hear her murmurs rise among the stars. I love life.
My little world with its ups and downs has an insignificant place among existence, but I don't want to carve out anything big. I'm content how I am, where I am, so long as life will have me. I know how limited it is, how painful it becomes. I know how joyful moments can bloom and fade into regret. The days continue, unceasing pulses pounding in the night. Who am I to challenge that?
But from my small seat among existence, I can wonder. Animals can die. But only humans can wonder. Wonder creates no evolutionary advantage, no utility--unlike the fear of death. It won't get you a job. It won't get you the girl in the end. It won't stop the pound of passing time. I am sad to see my grandfather pass away and my heart aches for our family friend. I cry when reading casualty counts and grow somber staring at obituaries. My own death scares me at times, especially when I think of all the experiences I may miss and all the people I may leave behind.
But fear and pain can never stop my wonder. They only let me taste its sweetness all the more.
This past year my father and I delivered a gift of food to a family friend who had lost her father. The same careworn lines and red eyes I've come to expect met us at the door. We handed the food over, hugged, and talked. I didn't know what to say, my tongue silenced when I realized how deep her struggle ran and how powerless I was to swim that depth. I stood by.
As time and experience grow, death loses its sharpness, but not its grip. A college campus glows with vitality, surrounded by youthful students dead-set on living, engrossed by dreams, and laughing as if life itself has no conclusion. But it does.
I have a closer brush than most my age, having attempted suicide before and contemplated it multiple times. Suicide leaves an aftertaste that never leaves. Standing on the precipice, before the maw of death, makes one shellshocked. The vision never leaves, the astringent taste lingering like a fine pulp through the years.
It can be haunting, but in many ways, it's liberating. The frail troubles of life lose their power. Drama seems pointless. A poor examination grade doesn't bother. A criticism or rumor--even larger problems of money and work--lose some of their power. They fall apart like nightmares in the face of day. Age and death ring out clear, "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity and chasing after wind."
Instead, one sees the beauty life brings. Many mornings on my way to breakfast I pause and watch the sun rise, so thankful to be present to that beauty. When I see the sun set, I can't describe the feeling, as if all the earth is a masterpiece colored and mixed in endless light and contrast. Falling leaves whisper like poems, frost like a hushed adagio. The smiles on young faces and the warmth of old eyes send a rush joy throughout my frame
Like a lovesick teenager I want to tell my love to the world, hold her close, and never let go. Spend my night encased in her tender arms and hear her murmurs rise among the stars. I love life.
My little world with its ups and downs has an insignificant place among existence, but I don't want to carve out anything big. I'm content how I am, where I am, so long as life will have me. I know how limited it is, how painful it becomes. I know how joyful moments can bloom and fade into regret. The days continue, unceasing pulses pounding in the night. Who am I to challenge that?
But from my small seat among existence, I can wonder. Animals can die. But only humans can wonder. Wonder creates no evolutionary advantage, no utility--unlike the fear of death. It won't get you a job. It won't get you the girl in the end. It won't stop the pound of passing time. I am sad to see my grandfather pass away and my heart aches for our family friend. I cry when reading casualty counts and grow somber staring at obituaries. My own death scares me at times, especially when I think of all the experiences I may miss and all the people I may leave behind.
But fear and pain can never stop my wonder. They only let me taste its sweetness all the more.