WHEN I QUESTION DEATH…
The departure of a beloved family member has a profound way of awakening our consciousness to the fragility of our own existence.
It was during this period of contemplation that I found myself consumed by worry, only to eventually comprehend that my anxiety was hindering my ability to truly live.
The truth became evident: the cycle of life and death lies beyond our grasp, beyond our control. All I could do was offer my heartfelt prayers for their well-being, day after day.
Instead of squandering precious time and energy on needless worries, I could have devoted myself to prayer.
Death, an inevitable part of life, holds the same significance as birth.
As a young child in infant school, I held onto the belief that my parents were invincible and that they would never age or face the inevitable fate of mortality. However, it was during those tender years that I encountered my first encounter with death, forever shattering my innocent perception.
Within the confines of my school, there existed a girl named Sarah, whose younger sister Rachel bravely battled cancer, her leg tragically claimed by the merciless disease.
Rachel walked around with a prosthetic limb; she remained isolated, devoid of companionship.
Moved by empathy, I extended my hand in friendship to Rachel, recognizing the loneliness that enveloped her. But as swiftly as our bond formed, it was abruptly severed.
Rachel never returned to school, and I missed being in her company.
It was then that I learned of her untimely demise, succumbing to the relentless grip of her illness.
In my naivety, I grappled with the notion of why a benevolent God would permit such suffering.
At the tender age of eight, my understanding was limited, and I yearned for answers that eluded my grasp.
Death didn’t occupy my thoughts much until my late teenage years, when I experienced the loss of someone dear from our church community to the clutches of leukaemia.
It was a shock to discover that she had been silently battling this illness, as she never let on.
However, before departing, she left behind a precious gift for each of us—a book and a scarecrow. Remarkably, I still cherish these tokens to this very day.
In coping with her passing, my solace came from frequent visits to the sacred ground where she found her eternal rest.
Unadorned by a traditional gravestone, a simple piece of weathered wood, bearing only a number, marked her final resting place.
In the depths of my despair, I sought solace in our conversations, pouring out my heart to her as if she were still here.
To commemorate our bond, I left behind a cherished photograph, capturing a moment frozen in time and forever etched in my memory.
Yet, as the years unfolded, the weight of life’s burdens pulled me away, and I have not returned to that cemetery in over two decades.
In the years that followed, tragedy struck once again when another dear friend from our church community met with a fatal accident involving a motorcycle.
It pained me deeply to learn that she had passed away in the hospital.
Accompanied by my father, we solemnly attended her funeral, where the sight of her grieving family shattered my heart even more.
It was a cruel reminder that she, too, was taken from us far too soon, marking the second loss of someone who had played a nurturing role in my life during my teenage years.
A shift occurred within me, leading me to embrace the notion that anyone associated with my existence was fated to meet an untimely demise.
The arrival of death is an unpredictable force, disregarding one’s health, age, or circumstances.
In my perception, I held the belief that those who harboured wickedness within them were granted an extended lifespan, while the virtuous were summoned back to the embrace of God.
However, I have come to realise that this perspective is far from reality, for there exist a multitude of remarkable individuals who are bestowed with the gift of longevity.
As evidence, I can proudly point to my uncle and grandmother, both of whom have celebrated their 90th year of life this very year.
In the depths of divine knowledge, God foresaw the cruellest blow that fate could deliver to me—the irrevocable loss of the one person I cherished unconditionally, the person upon whom I relied for emotional sustenance. My Beloved Father.
You could have subjected me to unspeakable torment or condemned me to a lifetime of anguish, yet nothing could compare to the tragic and horrifying ordeal of witnessing my Father’s suffering and eventual demise. It was a time of unparalleled sorrow, forever etched in the annals of my existence.
All the misfortunes that had befallen me in the past, I would willingly endure them repeatedly if only it meant the restoration of my Father’s health.
The weight of his absence took an eternity to accept, fueling a tempest of anger, rage, and hatred that propelled me towards self-destructive tendencies. It became a twisted justification for inflicting further harm on myself.
After a considerable amount of time, I finally reached a point where I could release my anger towards God.
Throughout the past few years, I have found solace in expressing my pain through the art of writing and, more recently, drawing.
Decades ago, my childhood friend suffered the heartbreaking loss of her Father to motor neurone disease.
He was an incredible individual, known for his kindness and compassion within our church community. It was this very friend who extended her hand to me when she learned about the passing of my own Father. Her support played a significant role in my healing process.
Five days prior to the burial of my late uncle Peter, who succumbed to cancer, I found myself compelled to pen down these words.
Peter was an extraordinary individual, and our bond was truly remarkable. However, I can’t help but feel remorseful for not visiting him earlier, as his time on this earth was tragically abbreviated.
Despite what you may think, I hold firm in my belief that death does not mark the end of our journey.
You may perceive my perspective as foolish, but I kindly request that you respect my convictions.
After all, there is no concrete evidence to definitively prove or disprove what lies beyond the words we read.
In this shattered world we inhabit, I have ceased to question the existence of the grim reaper, for I have come to realise that anything can transpire.
However, I strive to maintain a state of neutrality towards matters beyond my control or comprehension.
In everything, there must be a balance.
Natalie M Bleau
The Scripture of Balance
