Death strikes. Again.

Four elders in the extended family died within a span of eight weeks.  They were all octogenarians; one of them was only months away from turning 90, and the latest was not far behind her.

"She was fine even a week ago," father said.  "She had some kind of a nasty cough for two days.  The doctor gave her antibiotics.  Couple of days into this treatment, when they tried to wake her up for the afternoon coffee, she was gone."

We all have to go, sometime, even though we love living.  The later it happens in one's life, the easier it is for the rest of us to accept that death.  We are often traumatized when death happens to a younger person.  Especially when kids die.  Which is also why the old tradition considers the death of the very elderly who have experienced life to its fullest as கல்யாண சாவு "kalyaana saavu"--in this case, the death is like a celebration.

All the four deaths happened with their people around.  Only one was in a hospice setting, and the rest were at home.  We forget that this is how humans usually died, and not in some sterile setting.  Away from traditional societies, like here in the US, only the rarest of the lucky ones ever get such an exit.  For most of us, we die among strangers:

For most of human history, death has been an intensely spiritual experience. Frequently, some religious figure, a pastor or a shaman, would be at a patient’s side at the end to help make it a deep and meaningful experience not only for the patient but also for his or her family and friends. Studies show that most patients have great spiritual needs and many derive strength from their faith. These days, instead of a shaman, patients are surrounded by strangers in scrubs. Death – one of the most complex events that can occur in a hospital – is usually handled by the youngest physicians.

Even though we know really, really well that death comes to every one of us humans, few among us bear witness to the very process of dying.  My father recalled witnessing one death in particular, when he could see the flame of life slowly extinguishing.  Even in the old country, only a lucky few get to witness the end, which is a humbling experience. 

I have been lucky to have been taught this most fundamental lesson of life more than once.  Witnessing the ending is a profound lesson on how fragile our existence is.  To watch a person die in your presence is perhaps one of the most humbling moments ever.  I believe that the dying that I witnessed has made me respect death, and respect living even more.  I consider myself immensely privileged that they died in my presence.

And when the end happens, the person instantly becomes referred to as "the body" that needs to be taken care of!  In the old traditions, the four bodies were cremated.  We mourn the passing.

Life continues on for the rest, and it is important to remind ourselves that we live in the present--without ever forgetting those who went before us, and who made the present possible for us.