The Goal Of All Life Is Death

Three lectures on a module of death and it got my stomach all knotted up each time. It’s never easy for one who experiences it to talk about it. As the professor speaks of repercussions and consequences of death, you know it’s happened to you. And you want to speak out but you really can’t.

Sitting there and hearing it all, it just brings tears to your eyes. It did take get the better of me. Strangely I spoke up in class and while taking down the notes my hands trembled. Knowing that I have not been honest to myself and that everything wasn’t okay for me just yet.

The thought of dying doesn’t scare me as much the thought of losing someone close to me does.

And then she used a quote by Freud, “The goal of all life is death.”
And that is why we after all, choose to make life meaningful as long as it lasts. It is but an inevitable stage of life, for some it comes early while some it comes later. For some it is natural and for some, accidental or self inflicted. It is yet going to come in all our lives at some point.

What’s worse is not being able to come to terms with it. Eventually we do, we ought to. I learnt in those hours, I hadn’t and it hurt within. As it’s rightly said, you can’t always talk about the way you feel – the only thing that helps are gestures. Living in denial for far too long though, did no good. The memories are still fresh in my mind.

She mentioned you shouldn’t hold on to the bitter death but instead think of memories, fond ones. And yes, I always have. But at that moment as I closed my eyes, I could see him in the ICU bed wrapped in plain white cloth – and the image stayed. Never before did it come to mind, but that day it just stayed in my head. The goal of all life maybe death, but dealing with bereavement is far from being easy though we put up a brave front at times. Most often, it is called for and you have no choice (or maybe there is a choice but you assume responsibility).

At this moment, right here, four years have gone by and I am still right there in my grey sweatshirt with my uncle’s arms around me – trembling because he doesn’t know what to say yet. I walk out of the elevator to see my mum’s eyes filled with grief and for the first time, I hugged her, for a brief moment that seemed so long. And as we walked down the corridor and pushed the door open, there he was, still and calm clad in white – turning pale with every passing second. Life was gone just like that!

Each time a friend speaks of their father, I burn with envy deep within. The word “dad” gets me numb for that second. And it hurts so much because as they speak of a man in the present, you now speak of him in the past.

The truth is, after all this time of a happy face, I need help. Not sympathy, but help!