He's Dead. What Does That Mean?

       Since my initial response to my friend Yeswanth's death in my last post "Death Came Calling...And Took My Friend", I've been thinking about the fact that he's gone. It was moving to read the expression of sorrow and loss from so many people on his Facebook wall, as I waded through my own thoughts on the matter. I suppose it was the sentiment expressed on Facebook that made me want to write about the implications of the feelings that hit us in the aftermath of death, on these occasions where we are suddenly confronted with the fragility of our bodies and the fleeting nature of our existence.

    There is a sense of incompleteness, a sudden void that seems to appear both in our sense of the little social bubble that we construct for ourselves and our hearts when someone we know is no longer there. It's especially felt when that person is someone we were very close to, as if a hole has been made in the wall or roof of a cozy "house" that we live in, and we suddenly feel the discomfort of not being sheltered from the uncertainties of the outside world. And I think that's why we experience the feeling of missing someone when they die - because they're the part of our carefully constructed "house" that's been damaged or taken away, and it's no longer a secure house anymore. I've never really thought of it like this before, but the sense came through so clearly as I read post after post on Yeswanth's wall that read along the lines of "I am at a loss for words and will miss you so badly...". I think there is a legitimate reason behind this feeling that hits us. I am convinced that it is God's gentle reminder to us that this world and life are transient and fleeting; as much as we crave constancy and security, we will never be able to construct a secure and lasting enough bubble for ourselves, as hard as we try.

    But there are also so many, many implications that follow once this realization sinks in, and I saw that expressed on his wall too. There is the sense of fear as the gap in our house reminds us of our own mortality, that we may at any minute encounter the event that stops our heartbeat, the breath in our lungs and hurl us into pitch darkness from which we will never return. There is the sense of finality, as we watch the body of the person taken to the crematorium or the burial ground. But even in the midst of this, we long for true peace and a place that we can truly call 'home', where there is real security. Why else do we write things like "RIP", "I'll see you on the other side", "Hope you're seeing this from Heaven", "You have reached your destination", etc? Once again, this reminds me of the post "Where Is Home?" that I wrote in 2009.

    Isn't it strange how the idea of a Godless, random world that arose by pure chance and completely explained by science doesn't seem all that appealing at times like this? I find no consolation in explanations of how Yeswanth will be broken down and recycled into the planet's cycles for organic matter. Or comfort in mourning the loss of his DNA from the gene pool of humanity, and the resulting impact on the variety and survivability of the human species. Atheism has no consolation to offer; for all our indulgence of Richard Dawkins' 'The God Delusion', The Selfish Gene' and the like, their explanations as to where Yeswanth is now, why friends miss him and his family is devastated are hollow and unsatisfying.

    What do I see in the words on his Facebook wall? That we recognize and value the individuality and intrinsic worth of the person called Yeswanth. That there must be something more to a human being than Carbon, Hydrogen, Oxygen and Nitrogen - a spirit, a soul. In the process, we implicitly admit that this was given to him by a source greater than ourselves and our world where change is the only constant. That's the only reason why people write about their prayers for him and his family. Ultimately in moments like this when the rubber meets the road, as much as we may sincerely mean words of condolence, it eventually boils down to only one word that offers any possible answer. The one word that offers consolation and hope of real security, the only word that keeps emerging from the background of everything that everyone is trying to say in all their shock and sorrow:

GOD.

    I believe that is who my friend is standing in front of and looking at now. But can God offer hope? What response can He give to all that we say and feel? I'm going to stop here for now and think about that for the next post. May you find your comfort in Him. God bless you.

- The Wisdom Seeker

Death Came Calling...And Took My Friend

    Since the New Year began, people close to me have experienced death in the passing on of their loved ones or are experiencing it now, as a loved one teeters on the brink between life and death. Barely a few hours after publishing my last post reflecting on the LOTR and our choice of what to do with our time here, I received an e-mail with a link to an online news article [1], bearing the news that death had come calling closer to home last week - and taken a friend.

Yeswanth in Sikkim, a province in India bordered by China, Nepal and Bhutan

    Yeswanth was my classmate during my Undergraduate years studying Engineering in India. He was also one of my assigned roomates while living ion campus during our second year. We had met in first year while living in separate rooms around the corner from each other - him in room 228, me in room 245. Tall, gentle and soft-spoken with a quiet smile and great sense of humour, he was very friendly and easy to get along with. I last saw him 6 years ago, after finishing one of the last exams of our Undergraduate degree - his in Electronics and Communication Engineering, mine in Electronics and Instrumentation. We chatted occasionally online over the years, but lost contact over time. The news article said that he had been killed in an automobile accident last Thursday, ten days after joining a division of Hewlett-Packard India in a major city as a Software Engineer. Rear-ended by a cement mixer truck while travelling in an autorickshaw (a motorized three-wheel taxi) on his morning commute to work, the collision crushed the autorickshaw between the  truck and a public transit bus in front of it. Neither Yeswanth or the driver stood a chance; they died instantly. The photo of the wreckage was barely recognizable; only the black and yellow paint with the remaining front tire and the white cement mixer in the background provided a clue of what it had once been.

Over in an instant: This is all that was left

    Yeswanth had just turned 27 years old when he died; his birthday was at the beginning of the year. The taxi driver was only 28 himself. Dead before the age of 30.

    Trying to process the shock of what I had just read, I visited his Facebook page. I don't know why. What I was hoping to find there? A wall post from him saying, "Hey everyone, I'm ok, it's just a joke!"? Instead, a flood of condolence messages posted on his wall from friends and co-workers hammered the finality of the fact home - Yeswanth was gone, and wasn't coming back. Reading some of the messages and dealing with my own feelings in the process, I thought I'd put some of my thoughts down here to help me think through things myself. I hope it'll help those who are aborbing it themselves, or trying to come to grips with it.

    My head seems to process the statement "Yeswanth died in a car accident" reasonably well. Six words, simple conept, not too much trouble, you'd think. But my heart rebels against this simplistic denial with a mental and emotional uproar that refuses to shut up. It can't understand the concept of 'gone'. Yeswanth's gone. Gone? What do you mean, gone? Gone where? Gone, as in permanently?! No, it's not possible! We chatted the other day. I just saw photos of him on Facebook and posts on his wall. How can someone suddenly disappear like that? Don't talk rubbish. Despite the reality of a world where death comes calling every day - in hospitals, homes, offices, automobile accidents, plane crashes, sinking ships, battlefields, warzones, murders, atrocities and all manner of ending human life, we seem to live in an automatic and oblivious denial, as if it could not possibly happen to us or those in our little social bubble. But when it does, we react with a shocked incredulity that would be comical, if the occasion were not so tragic. "OMG, how could he die?", we find ourselves asking, as if it were something unheard of in the universe.

    The denial only escalates knowing that he died so young. Somehow, we all live life with a natural and unconscious assumption that we are meant to die only at a ripe old age, after living a full life and experiencing every step along the way. I guess it's the natural optimism that God creates us with, that every couple who wants children have as they realize they're going to have a baby, and hold their new-born in their arms for the first time. No parent starts out envisioning that their pride and joy will unexpectedly die along the way, before they do. "No parent should have to bury their child", says King Theoden with sorrow in The Lord of The Rings: The Return of The King, as he watches his son's funeral procession. In that one sentence, he verbalizes our assumptions that there is a right way that life is to be lived. There is an instinctive retaliation against anything to the contrary, as if we have an awareness that this is not the way the world is supposed to be, not the way life is to be lived, not the way we are supposed to die. 

    But days after his passing, and the expression of sorrow by all who have known him that will have to give way to acceptance over time, there is a haunting question that refuses to go away, expressed indirectly on his Facebook wall:

Yeswanth is gone, but where? What happened to him? Where is he?

    As I write this, he is not the only one from my years in Undergrad that I think about. Roughly two years ago, I got a similar e-mail bearing the news that Terrin Jacob had driven home after a party having had too much to drink. He lost control of his car, crashed it into a wall and died on the way to hospital. He was from the class below me, and only 24 when he died.

 

Terrin Jacob as I remember him

    I think I need to stop here for this post and carefully digest all that's going through my head right now. I'll write more later. See you then.

- The Wisdom Seeker

REFERENCES:

  [1] Killer truckers Claim 5 Lives: 3 Accidents In 24 Hours

NOTE:

   This post was the first that led to a four-part series on life, death, purpose and realizations about all of them. The full series is listed below:

• Death Came Calling...And Took My Friend
• He's Dead. What Does That Mean?
• Is He There? Does He Care?
• Help, God. It Hurts.

"I Wish None Of This Had Happened."

Frodo and The Ring of Power (The Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring)

     I don't know why circumstances in life keep reminding or bringing me back to my favourite movie. I guess there is so much in The Lord of The Rings that God uses to speak to me in a profound and powerful manner. With the train of thought that I've been developing since the beginning of the year, recalling something relevant from LOTR that spoke to me was inevitable. The brilliant soundtrack composed by Howard Shore that plays as I write this definitely adds fuel to the fire of inspiration!

    Among the many memorable moments in the first part of the trilogy, The Lord of The Rings: The Fellowship of The Ring, there was one in particular that riveted my attention the very first time I saw it in the theatres. It continues to do so every year at Christmas time, as I watch the trilogy as part of my annual tradition. Mind you, I watch only the Extended Edition!

    The approximate half-way mark finds Frodo, Sam, Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Boromir, Merry and Pippin trapped underground in the dark of the massive dwarf mine of Moria. Since discovering the true nature of the Ring towards the beginning of the story, Frodo has found himself running from the Shire with his friends, chased by the Ringwraiths first to Bree, and from there, all the way to Rivendell. Along the way, for the first time in his life he is thrust into a wild and unfamilar world fraught with danger, stabbed, endured cold, hunger, fear, sleepless nights and much more. The jouney has become only harder after leaving Rivendell, where he had assumed responsibility for the Ring as the Ringbearer, and begins to increasingly feel its weight on his spirit and the allure of its power. Now, chased into the dark of Moria and trapped in its terrifying gloom and silence with the rest of the Fellowship, Frodo sits next to Gandalf and begins to cry. And in that context comes this very potent scene.

The Fellowship of The Ring: Gandalf in the Dwarf mine of Moria

    "I wish the Ring had never come to me," says Frodo. "I wish that none of this had happened." There is a pause as Gandalf turns to look at him, his eyes filled with compassion and understanding of the burden that he would never have had the little Hobbit carry. "So do all who live to see such times", he says. "But that is not given to them to decide. What we must decide, is what we will do with the time that is given to us."

    That tiny exchange of two sentences is significant; it will return to influence Frodo's decision at a critical and pivotal moment towards the end of The Fellowship of The Ring, when both the quest and the Fellowship are on the verge of collapse. Time and again, as I watch the movie or in moments of reflection, it speaks volumes to me too.

    Like Frodo, I have a long list of "I wish" moments as I look back on my life. And I'm sure we all do - I wish I'd done better in school; I wish I'd studied harder; I wish I'd achieved more; I wish I'd listened to this advice, and hadn't listened to that advice; I wish I'd used my time better; I wish this friend had not hurt me; I wish that person had not abandoned me; I wish that painful moment had not happened; I wish someone loved me; I wish someone wanted me; I wish someone would take notice of all that I do; I wish people would treat me better; I wish I had treated people better; I wish I had been a better son/daughter/husband/wife/father/mother; I wish I had told that person I loved them; I wish I hadn't; I wish I hadn't said those hurtful words to that person; I wish I had trusted this person; I wish I hadn't trusted that person; I wish I wasn't a fool; I wish I had made this choice, or not made that choice; I wish...

    But time and again, in those rueful moments of regret, disappointment, sorrow and a myriad other sentiments, I am reminded of the transforming perspective of my God and Father, who would have me see differently. I am reminded that my life and times are in His hand, where in the words of His Apostle, "..that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28, ESV). I am reminded that through all my moments of regret, He works for my good and His glory, transforming me into the image of His Son and my Christ as He weaves the threads together into a brilliant tapestry that will outweigh all the tears and heartbreak that have gone into its making. I am reminded of His constant and abiding companionship through it all, brilliantly expressed by Psalm 139 and the writer of Hebrews: "I will never leave you nor forsake you" (Hebrews 13:5). I am reminded that He will comfort me in painful moments involving people and circumstances (2 Corinthians 1:3-4, Psalm 9:9). I am reminded that I will have courage inspite of my doubts, when I look at Him (Romans 10:17, 2 Corinthians 5:7, Hebrews 11:1). I am reminded that He will help me deal with my failures (Psalm 37:23-24, Proverbs 3:5-6) and through disappointments (Phillipians 4:6-7, Galatians 6:9). I am reminded of His consolation in times of heartbreak (1 Peter 5:6-7, Isaiah 43:2). There is not one wistful "I wish.." occasion of this life that is not transformed in perspective as we come to know the great God who bids us call Him "Father."

    Above all else, I am reminded through His Word and moments such as this, that He has given me a unique capacity as a human being - the power of choice. And as a child foreknown, predestined, called, justified, glorified (Romans 8:29) and guided by His Spirit, to use that choice wisely and differently, to decide what I will do with the time given to me by my Father. The power to choose love in the light of the sinner that I am, and sinful human beings whom I have hurt and hurt me in turn, in a fallen and broken world. The power to choose eternity, knowing my true Home waiting on the other side of death, "...looking forward to the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God" (Hebrews 11:10). The power to choose the use of my time to tell the dying world around me that there is life offered to them freely, if only they will accept.

    I have to stop now. It's hard to believe so much came out of a little two-sentence exchange in a massive three-hour movie. It makes me feel like I have to watch it now, but I'll have to control myself until Christmastime comes again in...11 months. I guess the soundtrack will have to do until then. But for those reading, do take time to watch this awesome story. There will never ever be a movie made to equal them, in my opinion! That said, I want to leave you with this thought:

    It is not given to us to choose the difficult "I wish none of this had happened" moments of our lives. What will we do with the time that is given to us?

- The Wisdom Seeker