Death's Gift to the Living

I work at a Midwestern hospital and I am often pained by the tragedies that I witness in my line of work. Seven years of frequent exposure to the suffering of others has impacted me deeply- whether I am listening to a story of a family recovering from a sudden and dreadful interruption into their lives or whether I am checking on the conditions of patients in our critical care areas. Sometimes I have to report to the local media that someone’s friend or family has died. I share the news with reporters with no idea of how that news sounds to the ears of those who pace the hospital waiting rooms praying and hoping for miracles- even if they don’t believe in them.

In addition to this, I am impacted by the media's countless news reports of kidnapped children, senseless murders, stray bullets and civilian casualties. Though not paralyzed by fear, I am often frightened by the seemingly uncontrollable and unpredictable nature of those events that either take or disfigure the lives of living beings. But with practice, I have learned to let go of the naïve assumption that such events could not also happen to myself or to those whom I love and cherish. I see myself in the husbands, fathers, uncles, sons, nephews and brothers who hover above the hospital beds and graves of their loved ones. I cringe at the thought of my family (especially my wife and daughter) losing me in such a tragic turn of events. My goal is to always make it home to them. Yet, I am aware of our mortality. 

But this awareness, instead of driving me to anxious despair, compels me to appreciate the time I spend with people, to invest myself fully in the moment and to force myself to observe the miniscule details of my experiences with them and flood my memories with the peculiarities that make each individual who they uniquely are. Suffering provides this perspective. This is Death’s indirect gift to the living.