Death is the ultimate reality of life. Whether we accept it or not, the countdown for that begins the moment we take our first breath of life. Yet it is considered a very morbid or gloomy topic to talk about, something too sombre or depressing to to be part of conversations amongst friends! We are mostly compelled to think about it or talk about it only when we lose a near and dear one and feel the absence of that person in our lives. Otherwise, we avoid this topic as much as possible. I suppose the subject of “Death” or the possibility of death opens up a pandora’s box of emotions for all of us which is difficult for us to accept! Death signifies the end of our identity as we perceive it in the normal parlance…

I realised about my fascination with death when my companion in life pointed this out  to me. Prior to that I was not even aware of my fascination with death. This writing is an effort to know the cause of my fascination. I have found that writing provides me with insights about myself and my thought processes which otherwise elude me.

Many a times, for reasonable reasons (at least thats how they appeared to me!!) or without reasons, I have had the urge to withdraw from life and experience what is there beyond life. I was more than willing to let go of life and embrace death….I feel death is ultimately the culmination of life….

I have witnessed death very closely because of my dad. He was a rheumatoid arthritic patient. The disease or the prescription drugs for his condition (no doctor could say for sure in the end!) had literally eaten away all the good tissues of his lungs so that only tiny islands of good tissues remained in the sea of darkness which once used to be his full fledged, healthy and  good working lungs. He was a non smoker all his life and a very active person. Once I saw his chest report, even before the doctors could say anything, I knew that his days were numbered. The backward countdown had begun in earnest and there was no way to stop the hands of the clock…

My dad wanted to live. He did not want to die. He wanted to live so very badly that it seemed criminal to even acknowledge to myself that there was no way I could help him sustain any longer. We could have perhaps kept him on a ventillator permanently for some time and let him sustain life but as a vegetable, without much dignity. He was sure he did not want that and so was I.

 We had fought many battles together before against death and won. But this time around it was clear that we had no more ammunition left to fight this battle. And he wanted to live…. he wanted to live his retired life peacefully, he wanted to see me getting married and settle down, he wanted to buy a new home for himself and my mom with the money from the sale of their earlier home, he wanted to travel and see the world… In short, he wanted to have a second chance at life..

His last days in the hospital were painful because each breath was an effort. Feeding him a bowl of soup was a victory against time for him as well as for me. As an onlooker, we felt that death would perhaps be a more peaceful release for him from all the pain and suffering he was going through. Yet he was not ready. All his life he had believed in hard work and creating new things. He believed in the existence of God but was not the one to stand before idols of God with bowed head. In his last days, he told us that God has assured him that he will take care of him. His interpretation – he would live…

At that moment I dont know which emotion was the stronger of the two in my mind – frustration that he was not willing to accept death peacefully and we were seeing him suffer each moment or the solace that he was happy with that interpretation..

I am not proud of all the emotions that I went through during those days. I worried about how I was going to sustain him, take care of my mom and live my own life. Financial considerations started to crop up. All of this even when I knew that his days were numbered. Although nobody knew whether it would be days, weeks or months. But the doctors were sure that the process was irreversible. On one hand I was doing all that was possible to keep him alive and find if there was any way in which I could sustain him longer.  On the other hand, I was tired of the fight we had been putting up for the past twelve years – 0n and off, for his survival. I was tired of being responsible for his well being.  I wanted to become a child who would be taken care of, protected against the adversities of life … I did not want to be the warrior anymore… I wanted somebody else to come and fight the battle for me.

Somedays I am harsh on myself for all that I did or failed to do during those days. Sometimes I try to forgive myself for being human and selfish…. The struggle goes on. 

When we hospitalised him for breathing problems and his condition stabilised a bit, the doctor called me in his room. He told me that my dad’s lungs were in very bad shape and his survival was at stake. The first thought to strike me was – he would not be able to undertake a cruise around the world which he always dreamt of.  For a numbing moment, thats all I could think of. The wave of sorrow that I felt along with the tears of regret is still there with me, even now. It felt as if we had missed out on something very important and precious in our lives together.  In my efforts to find myself had I overlooked the moments which we could have lived together?

I try to rationalise that it was a mutual mistake. He was very busy with his work when I had wanted his time and by the time he wanted more of me in his life, I was busy trying to find me and my place in the scheme of things in this world. I realise now that we take our lives and the people in our lives so very much for granted that sometimes we miss out on moments which we dream of creating together….

 Remembrances – memories of the triumphs and tribulations faced together,  moments of laughter and joy shared together – that is all that remains ultimately.

Perhaps the biggest reason of my fascination with death is that it causes me to reflect on the way I am living. It makes me aware of the fragility and innate redundancy of life unless it is lived with consciousness. Paradoxically death provides an opportunity for the human fortitude and the strength of the sould to shine through. When death is around, the person who is on the death bed as well the people around that person are bound to discover their true selves. There is no time for playacting anybody other than one actually is. There is no way one can run away from ones innermost yearnings and principles at that point of time. It is one of those few moments in life when a person is ones highest self as well as the lowest… both the ends of the spectrum are visible with clarity… And sometimes after that revelation is through, the illusions and expectations in life become minimal or non existent. As somebody has said – its the best of times and its also the worst of times …..