‘Life is rather a state of embryo, a preparation for life; a man is not completely born until he has passed through death’ – Benjamin Franklin.
One of the most beautiful things an 80-year-old woman said to a man who had just lost his wife was, ‘She has simply gone into the next room; and she has not closed the door but left it ajar.’
It is a gentle reminder that our loved ones are not entirely lost to us, even if their deaths may feel final. The older woman had pointed in a direction that alleviates the deep pain of loss. She would have had a lifetime of experience behind her to help her make this assertion with conviction. All we know is that it was a wisdom that brought some level of comfort to the bereaved.
As the year comes to an end, as the year dies, it is quite shocking to think of the numbers of all those lost to us in 2020. Many people before us have grappled with the whole idea of death, especially premature death. M.Scott Peck, psychiatrist and author wrote:
‘It is death that provides life with all its meaning.’
They almost sound like harsh words for those who haven’t managed to find meaning in their bereavement. Spiritual leaders sometimes tell those trying to cope with the death of a loved one that earthly life is full of sorrow and suffering, thereby normalising the anguish of death. It is meant to help but it does not really help.
I have been at funerals where unthoughtful relatives tell the sorrowing members to stop weeping. Isn’t that very insensitive? They are told to be strong, that they should make an effort to be strong for their loved one’s sake. Shouldn’t they be allowed to weep their hearts out? In traditional mourning, we have our equivalent of the New Zealand Haka when it is performed at funerals. Until the eighties and nineties, women from the village used to take off their shawls and beat the floor with it, to show their great loss. There was also a practice where two or three women jumped together rhythmically to express their heartache. All these were legitimate avenues for displaying pain. All are necessary outlets for grief. I deeply appreciate them.
And then afterwards, how to deal with the reality of death? Exactly how does it give meaning to life?
David Gibson, Director of Center on Religion and Culture at Fordham University says:
‘Death gives meaning to life by giving our earthly existence an endpoint. Eternity is a mystery, and faith fills the space between this lived reality and that undiscovered country. But let’s not focus only on our own salvation. Instead, let’s think about giving meaning to the lives of others. In doing so, we would transform the meaning of our own life, and death, and perhaps the lives and deaths of others.’
Co-authors of the book, ‘After the Diagnosis ..A Guide for Living’ Reverend Thomas Lynch and Barbara Mariconda write:
‘Death is a doorway to something greater and the promise that we will finally achieve wholeness and oneness with all that is. This is the beauty of resurrection. So, paradoxically, it is death that allows our deepest desires of the heart to be fulfilled.’
The idea of the open door probably could do with more exploration. Especially in the light of the fact that this year has been a lesson in dying, more than in living. We continue to be very ignorant about death. One cannot help wondering, would it help if spiritual leaders attempted to demystify death? Just as those who try to offer us comfort are handicapped, we too are equally incompetent when we try to offer comfort. I should like to learn more about the open door. I should like to learn how to be more compassionate in a genuine way; be able to offer empathy by simply lending a listening ear; be ready to mitigate grief by the gift of presence and not exhortation.
In the end, it is this for now: those who have gone before us have left the door ajar. There is always hope of reunion at the end of an open door.
