Death and Faith

I talk about death too much, and this may not appeal to a lot of people, but it’s one of the definite things in life. Once in a while, a death announcement gets to me, and I find it difficult to shake off. The feeling of sadness, pain, and heaviness of the heart eases off with time, but it never really goes away, especially if you are close to the deceased. I have begun to envy religious people with faith in their religious processes and God. In times like this, they have the cover to explain things to reduce or numb the pain. Their faith soothes some of the pain, and eventually, time makes it bearable. It’s no wonder some people will defend religion, sometimes to an extreme, because without it, they are empty. The belief that everything works according to God’s plan and for a higher purpose helps some people heal. For some families, the explanation is never enough; some never get over the heartbreak of losing someone, and I understand it.

The pain of the loss of a loved one is difficult. For people like me, it just raises more questions about how unfair and unbalanced life is. We ask so many questions—so many that there aren’t any answers—and gradually, we slip out of faith and have nothing to cling to in moments like this. A lot of times I wish I could rationalize the pain of death, even if I am not in a direct relationship with the deceased. Sometimes, I push the pain into a void (compartmentalize) so I can move on with life, but it never really goes away; I just live with it. No succor of a better place or grand plan by God. Some other times, I desperately try to cling to that little spark of faith left in me because the emptiness is loud and I just want to shut it out. The emptiness sometimes comes with friends: anxiety, doubt, fear, sadness, and then the cold feeling that nothing matters.

I also envy the other animals; they do not have the brain power to rationalize and view things as deeply as humans. They form emotional attachments too, but for the most part, they just live and survive to the best of their abilities. We toil all our lives to give it meaning and make it comfortable, and at the end of it all, death shows its face. The end of it for anyone might just be the beginning for their families. Some are happy to see it, and some wish they had more time to achieve their plans.

I begin to wonder: if death is the end of all, why are we not allowed to die on our terms? Why is dying on your terms so frowned upon? We all agree that death is the end of all living things, but why do we strive to live longer? Considering we never know when we will die, why aren’t we allowed to determine when and how we die?