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As a child born during the 1975 Civil War that tore Lebanon apart, I grew up amidst bombs and explosions. And that trauma was more or less processed to the best of our abilities. We didn't know peace to compare and it must have been hell for the older generations who had experienced Lebanon differently and were still in shock from the unfolding turmoils. I am writing about death because of a specific occurrence that happened when I was 5 years of age maybe. Dad being a priest, our home was on the wall of the church. And as it so goes, one day there was a funeral. I am not sure who the deceased was but the courtyard had all been decorated in white flowers and ribbons, and there were wailing women to be heard. I could only see young men dancing with a white coffin, while we heard a manly voice creak words of elegy about the departed over a loudspeaker. Mom removed me from the window pane and took me to the TV room. First anomaly: mom never let us watch TV for more than an hour on Saturdays. It was Sunday, and we hadn't been able to get out of Beirut because of some skirmishes or the like. Second anomaly: mom looked nervous to me, and this was new. She had tears in her eyes but kept her cool, and I did not understand why. She usually answered our questions patiently so I ventured to figure out what was going on.
What was taking place in the church? Because I couldn't see from the window. And why wasn't dad with us? I knew dad had to be by the community. I couldn't understand why I wasn't allowed to go with him. Not to be around people. That would have appalled me. But to observe their societal behaviors. Mom said that this young man had passed away and that dad was praying with the community for his soul to rest in peace. I couldn't grasp how can one rest if the coffin was being bounced up and down and in all directions, so I had to ask for clarification. Mom replied that our souls are not material and they do not remain with us when we are dead. And I interrupted her to say, aaah so that's what all the bouncing is for? To release the soul? Mom couldn't but grin. She explained that sometimes out of grief people behave differently from when they are in a normal situation. To which I said innocently: I'm glad! I do not want them to shake me like that when I am dead! My head and my body would bounce against the coffin and that must hurt! And before my mother could utter another word, I continued: when I am dead, I want you and dad and my brother to wear white. Or red. It's nicer than black! And I don't want that old man to say things I don't understand. Why can't people sing happy songs instead, because I would be going to meet with God and Jesus and all the angels? I want happy songs! At that point, I remember mom hugging me very tight and calling my brother who had been busy with his Matchbox cars to join us for some treat. Anomaly number three: mom usually kept the treats for special occasions like birthdays and she definitely didn't want us to consume too many sweets on any given day...
This circumstance remains imprinted in my mind and its imagery is vivid. Years later, as a teenager, I could ascertain that deceasing doesn't scare me. Why would it? We know that we will die for sure. That is actually one of the rare certainties we have since the moment we come to this world. So the best strategy is to live fully and be ready when death knocks on our door. Some would say that's very simplistic of me. Maybe it is. But in my belief, we are taught that dying is but a passage to a new and brighter life. Something to look forward to, no? Growing up and with all the experiences I underwent in my life, I still believe life is too short to regret anything. My demise might just be the epitome of a life well-lived, enjoyed, and that prepared me for what would come next. I even went to the notary at age 19 to have a legal will draft, in case something happened to me. Needless to say that he not only brushed me off but even told my dad, who was friends with him, that I was probably cuckoo. In return, I had to be lectured about focusing on the good instead of the bad. Which I was already doing. In my mind, that action had sprung out of practicality, not fear, pessimism, or feeling low. When I remember it now, I smirk because I was completely misunderstood and I wasn't interested enough in justifying myself. All I know, and it has been the case for decades now, when Azrael will come for me, I will probably be smiling and eager to step to my next level.
Some quotes on death:
Death is the end of one story and the beginning of another - Philip Moeller
Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men - Herodotus
The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time - Mark Twain
For Life and Death are one, even as the river and the sea are one - Gibran Khalil Gibran
Die happily and look forward to taking up a new and better form. Like the sun, only when you set in the west can you rise in the east - Rumi
The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity - Seneca
Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy - Eskimo proverb
I do understand that many Lebanese still suffer from PTSD since the Beirut explosion and the "natural" disasters that are devastating the region is not something to take lightly. I pray for the souls of all innocent creatures who have succumbed and hope they didn't have to suffer. I still believe, and that is just my opinion, not a judgment on my behalf, that one shouldn't give any moment more attention or emotion than it deserves. Then again, it is quite difficult to think with one's heart and feel with one's brain. But think of it this way: worrying and stressing over an event that is definitely out of our control will not change the course of action or the outcome. Then what use is it to let it unsettle you? Easier said than done. But so worth the try...
