like a fish needs a bicycle...

life and after

apologies for the blog silence. i've technically been on hiatus, so you would think i would have time to blog, but i must say that this has been the least restful spring break i can recall.

but that's not what i wanted to write about...

this week i've been thinking a lot about death, and thus also about life. march 16 was the anniversary of my grandfather's passing, and we went to his grave to say prayers, as we do every year. i always feel so much peace in praying for him and connecting with him and asking him to guide me and my family. but i also always feel some uneasiness, because i can never stop myself from thinking about what it would be like to lose someone else who is very close to me, especially if it were a family member who died far too young. my grandfather lived a long and full life, and he was ready to go. so it was sad, but not tragic, when he died. other deaths are more tragic.

i found out yesterday that one of my good friends lost her little brother to brain cancer this week. he died on march 16 as well. he was only 12 years old. i can't imagine how hard it must be for her and her family right now -- to lose someone so dear when he hasn't even had the chance to live his life yet. he was truly a sweet child. and though i know -- and his family knows -- that he is happy and free now, the pain of losing him is very real and very lasting for his family who remains on earth. i keep thinking about his parents, and how their lives will never be the same. i wonder if they'll ever be happy again.

when i was a kid, i thought that losing my mom would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. and when i expressed that sentiment to her once, she told me that it would be far worse if she lost me. of course, i didn't understand it then, but i think i understand it now -- and i'm still a long way from having kids. it's just that i somehow realize now that children are supposed to lose their parents -- not the other way around. of course it is sad when parents die, but it is far more natural, and it is far more likely that kids will recover and live happy, fulfilling lives.

of course, i believe that there is a hidden blessing in all things, but i feel so much sorrow at seeing a life end so long before it runs its natural course. i realized how much that troubles me when i first began to lose my friends to car accidents when i was in high school. what i realized this week is that it's also difficult for me to see the opposite, to witness a life that, for whatever reason, continues beyond its natural course.

my grandmother is around 90 years old. no one is sure how old she is, because when she was born, people were not yet keeping track of girls' birthdays in the villages in iran. it just wasn't seen as important. so she's not sure of the year, much less the date, of her birth. but we think she's around 90. she's had severe osteoporosis my whole life -- since my earliest memories of her, she has walked completely bent over to half her height. as long as i've known her, she's been extremely thin and frail, and spoken no english. but she's always been so sweet and so full of love, and i've been close to her since i was a baby.

though her condition has grown steadily worse as she's gotten older, these past couple of years have been exceptionally bad. she's been in so much pain, she's lost most of her mobility, and worst of all, her mind is going -- her memory is fading and she has a very hard time speaking. when i saw her this past week, she seemed a pale shadow of even the old, weathered woman i had always known her to be. she's so visibly frustrated at her own condition. she understands that she's losing her ability to speak and express herself, and she's aware that her children spend hours a day helping her eat, shower, and get dressed. in her moments of lucidity, she talks about how she hates that she can't talk, how she hates being a burden on others, and how she doesn't understand why God is keeping her alive anymore.

it breaks my heart to hear her say those things. all i can tell her is that, even though these past several years have been hard for her, at least her grandchildren have been grateful to know her and have loved having her around.

a year and a half ago, when her sister died, all she could say was "good for her. i'm so happy for her. i know she's found peace. i can't wait to join her." that broke my heart too. because i realized that she feels left behind. and this past year, as she's gotten so much worse, she's increasingly baffled at *why* she's been left behind, since she feels that she has nothing to contribute to this world anymore, that's she's only a burden, and that she can't wait to be freed from her mortal cage. each time i've seen her this past year, i've felt like it could very well be the last time i see her. i'm always so amazed when i see her again. i'm as perplexed as she is that her body has held on this long. i don't want her to suffer anymore.

***

i think about all of these lives... my grandfather. my friend's little brother. my grandmother. my friend emma who died at age 15, in february 6 years ago. my friend shah, who died in his early 20's, in march 7 years ago. (apparently, february and march are months of mourning for me).

i think about what life and death have meant for each of these people and for their families. i wonder what it's like to expect death -- how different it must be to expect death at age 12 than to expect death at age 90. i also wonder what would happen if i were to lose someone very close to me long before their time had come. of course, in persian, you can only utter morbid hypotheticals like that if you preface them with "God forbid." so i realize this isn't a happy scenario to consider. but i think it's wise to ponder them every once in a while.

when i do ponder these situations, it reminds me how frighteningly mortal each of us is, how incredibly fragile we all can be, and how easy it is to let days go by without telling the people we love that we love them.

losing loved ones is a part of growing up. we all know how much i hate growing up.

and yet, it is good, because i'm learning difficult (but invaluable) lessons about how to make my life more meaningful and fulfilling, how to find small ways to be of service to others, and how to make others happier. it's strange to think that death can be one of the most powerful educators in life.

Posted by naseem at March 18, 2006 11:43 PM