The past few days have been intensely chaotic. My uncle unexpectedly passed away on Wednesday night, sending a shock wave through the family. My little brother called at 10pm to tell me about it, and I could hear my mother in the background, crying while she dressed to go to the ER to be with her sister (wife of the uncle who passed.) I left a note for my husband, who, having to wake up for work at 3:30am, was already in bed asleep, and I drove out to the hospital. A large gathering of my extended family was already there, in varying stages of tears, silence, and pallor. I knew my mother would be broken down, as she struggles to cope with any sort of trauma, especially death.
Entering the room where my uncle was lying, surrounded by his wife, children, and other relatives, I immediately walked to my cousin, my favorite female cousin on my mom’s side of the family, and she fell against my chest, clutching me in a hug so fierce I could feel her heart beating against my own. After a while, she stepped back into her husband’s arms, I hugged and murmured condolences to my aunt and other cousins, and I left them to their private grief, wishing I could have properly extended my heart towards my favorite male maternal cousin, but not knowing the appropriate finger art.
When back in the common area, again surrounded by relatives and acquaintances, I was struck by the diversity in reaction. Some, like my mother, seemed almost incapable of containing their grief. Tears, crumpled faces, trembling hands…their entire bodies seemed to sob. Others were stoic and stone-faced, almost as if they had shut down completely in the effort to not let their emotions show. Others were talking softly, expressing the same stunned disbelief that everyone felt at such an untimely passing. Family arguments were suddenly forgotten. Relatives who had been at war with one another were hugging, desperately whispering apologies and swearing love and regret. The tragedy has shined a light on the insignificance of petty squabbles, and slapped everyone with a hard dose of reality. And I had to wonder, why does it take death to remind us of life?
Why must we hold onto our ignorance, our selfishness, our ego and pride, when we have daily opportunities to make amends, to solve problems, to grow and learn and be the people we are capable of being? Why do we sit and wait, stew and steam over wrongs, both perceived and actual, when all parties are still walking the ground and fully able to respond and reciprocate? Why do we not realize the implications of our actions and inactions until a tragedy forces us to look beyond our self-enclosure?
Simply reiterated, why does it take death to remind us of life?
A question I’ll likely never have the answer to, but one that I fully intend to prove wrong.
