Empathy for death?
Heard the news of a little boy’s death.
He is the son of one of my father’s female colleagues, not yet 7 years old. He had an inherent brain tumor that gave him insomnia, slant eyes, and headaches. They found the tumor when he was around 4 or 5 and operated on it. They had eradicated the tumor but he still died. I cannot fathom why. Mother feels this incident deeply because she herself has a brain tumor the size of a pea (since it’s in the brain, that’s considerable) behind her frontal lobes and causes her irregularity in menstruation, headaches, fainting spells and nausea.
The Dr. who presided over the birth of my brother and whom my mother considers a good friend and wonderful Christian died also. We’ve visited them twice after they moved to Colorado and they had built this mansion on the side of the hill. My mother said she felt strongly that the location would cause difficulties should someone in the house suffer an accident or be sick and need quick access to the hospital. My mom’s premonitions are always to be trusted; I shall explain this fact later. The good Dr. had a hereditary disorder that makes him highly perceptible to blood clots, and this occurred in his brain. He had been bedridden for four years before passing away recently. I remember he was always so kindly and somewhat of a health enthusiast. “He and his wife were good servants of the Lord.” They had missioned in Africa for nine years when he was younger.
I cannot understand why I feel so coldly towards these. I, as a human being, am obliged to feel something – yet there is nothing. A little selfish fear, perhaps, for the unknown region of death, but what more? My mother reminds my brother and I daily that she ails; she tires, and may not be long in this world. She tells me that I should be kind to my brother and take care of him justly after her demise. I suppose she sees my silence as stoicism… in truth, it is indifference. There is no more blatant evil than disregard, and truly I feel my heart is cold to the thought of her death. Why? The idea that she will no longer be here to cater to my needs, to advise and provide sobers me, but for now, no more. Am I utterly without feeling? Perhaps it is the repetition of the possibility that numbs me, or the idea that, if she is not always surrounded by this conviction, she will not die. I have heard of a person who died from a lung cancer after they were informed of it – when they had the very same cancer for years without feeling the worse for wear. It is a phenomenon of the mind that fascinates me – the proximity of thoughts and body.
Do others feel the way I do? It is proper to mourn a death, even for a stranger, but does one truly mourn? Knowing that we care little for the death of others, we know, perhaps, that we shall not be mourned. What is the purpose, then, of our existence? Alas, the universal human question! Surely we, with our divine gift of thought, are made with some divine purpose?
Somehow, none of the traditional myths I have ever read satisfy the question of our purpose. We, with our inquisitive minds are told to trust blindly. The faith of millions in one doctrine is a mind-bogglingly powerful thing, because they say the human mind can create many things by belief alone. Perhaps we recruit so many to our faith due to our sense of self-preservation – we are unconsciously building a paradise of our mind, and if our latter generations cannot bear this burden of faith, our heaven shall disappear and our essences dissipate. It is a self-reliant theory – but is it not possible? I hope I can delude myself into Faith someday so I need not feel so empty.
Heard this radio program “Letting go of God” the other day and was horribly depressed. www.juliasweeney.com
He is the son of one of my father’s female colleagues, not yet 7 years old. He had an inherent brain tumor that gave him insomnia, slant eyes, and headaches. They found the tumor when he was around 4 or 5 and operated on it. They had eradicated the tumor but he still died. I cannot fathom why. Mother feels this incident deeply because she herself has a brain tumor the size of a pea (since it’s in the brain, that’s considerable) behind her frontal lobes and causes her irregularity in menstruation, headaches, fainting spells and nausea.
The Dr. who presided over the birth of my brother and whom my mother considers a good friend and wonderful Christian died also. We’ve visited them twice after they moved to Colorado and they had built this mansion on the side of the hill. My mother said she felt strongly that the location would cause difficulties should someone in the house suffer an accident or be sick and need quick access to the hospital. My mom’s premonitions are always to be trusted; I shall explain this fact later. The good Dr. had a hereditary disorder that makes him highly perceptible to blood clots, and this occurred in his brain. He had been bedridden for four years before passing away recently. I remember he was always so kindly and somewhat of a health enthusiast. “He and his wife were good servants of the Lord.” They had missioned in Africa for nine years when he was younger.
I cannot understand why I feel so coldly towards these. I, as a human being, am obliged to feel something – yet there is nothing. A little selfish fear, perhaps, for the unknown region of death, but what more? My mother reminds my brother and I daily that she ails; she tires, and may not be long in this world. She tells me that I should be kind to my brother and take care of him justly after her demise. I suppose she sees my silence as stoicism… in truth, it is indifference. There is no more blatant evil than disregard, and truly I feel my heart is cold to the thought of her death. Why? The idea that she will no longer be here to cater to my needs, to advise and provide sobers me, but for now, no more. Am I utterly without feeling? Perhaps it is the repetition of the possibility that numbs me, or the idea that, if she is not always surrounded by this conviction, she will not die. I have heard of a person who died from a lung cancer after they were informed of it – when they had the very same cancer for years without feeling the worse for wear. It is a phenomenon of the mind that fascinates me – the proximity of thoughts and body.
Do others feel the way I do? It is proper to mourn a death, even for a stranger, but does one truly mourn? Knowing that we care little for the death of others, we know, perhaps, that we shall not be mourned. What is the purpose, then, of our existence? Alas, the universal human question! Surely we, with our divine gift of thought, are made with some divine purpose?
Somehow, none of the traditional myths I have ever read satisfy the question of our purpose. We, with our inquisitive minds are told to trust blindly. The faith of millions in one doctrine is a mind-bogglingly powerful thing, because they say the human mind can create many things by belief alone. Perhaps we recruit so many to our faith due to our sense of self-preservation – we are unconsciously building a paradise of our mind, and if our latter generations cannot bear this burden of faith, our heaven shall disappear and our essences dissipate. It is a self-reliant theory – but is it not possible? I hope I can delude myself into Faith someday so I need not feel so empty.
Heard this radio program “Letting go of God” the other day and was horribly depressed. www.juliasweeney.com
posted by Mignon Chang at 12:32 PM
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