Then You Fade Away

Death grants us growth and reflection

The last time I saw my grandfather, he was sitting on a couch smiling at me almost helplessly when I kissed him on the cheek and gently acknowledged him with both affection and respect. That was only a few years ago. Now, I can only think about how that person he once was, is no longer. He was just gone, gone forever. It's strange really, how time works in relation to the last time you see someone. How time just passes by and we irrevocably move forward without an idea of the passing moment.

After having many conversations with a friend about death, it really reiterated to me how death grants us the opportunity to reflect on our lives. One of my closest friends, Fiona, we talk about death non-stop ; over lunch, dinner, and even at work when there are no customers around  - well actually, we do if they're happy enough to browse the store while listening in on our morbid conversations. Anyway, we just happened to connect over it and we were bewildered about the absurdity of it all. Fiona being double my age, meant that she had more insight. She often laments about how sad it was when people die because that opportunity to speak to them or resolve things with them ends and never again do we have the chance , which was a tragedy in itself. It puzzled us too about the contradictions of celebrating death itself, why do wait for the end of things to be recognized and celebrated? The irony being, why couldn't it have been like this when they were alive? This celebration was just seemingly ill-timed, we thought. Fiona also wondered too, if it would matter if people were present at your funeral? As you wouldn't know. It's quite comical really, the irony of death and funerals, but it really does demonstrate that we do our best to honor our loved ones.

I feel we are at our best at funerals, innocent and full of sorrow. No one knows how to react and in such a state of bereavement, we are all like children, helpless. Standing beside me at her father's funeral, my Auntie remarked a similar sentiment about the tragedy of circumstances realized upon death. Like Fiona, she thought of how sad it was, that as a family, this was the first time our family had nearly been altogether in the same place. Hitherto, I had never seen such sorrow on a face, it was so defeating. It occurred to me that I had never ever really hugged her and that moment felt like the most suitable time. I feel like we should hug every single member of our family and even the extended ones. It's the little things like that, that cements relationships. I even feel that the breakdown of the family could be helped if we all just maintained a level of touch, whether it was the physical act of hugging, kissing, or keeping in touch. If that was too hard then I supposed we could start by really talking to each other , even just looking each other in the eye with care and attention. There's all this intimacy we miss out on with the people we are meant to love and those who love us. If that fails, how else are we supposed to invite people in? It only seems after a life-changing experience, we are reminded of the importance of the small things. Though aren't the small things really just the big things too? Isn't everything in relation to one another? There is no big or small, it just is.

Death is followed by a celebration of life

Death really does seem to serve as a catalyst in reminding us of the gift of life or to give life meaning even. For death is when we recognize the life that was lived. This is why funerals provide us with an appropriate time to really come to terms with death and loss. If there was one thing I learned about funerals, it was that funeral processions are strange arrangements. My grandfather's procession was not as usual as I expected. In fact, it barely felt like a funeral, it was more like a celebration of life. The funeral presiding reiterated life over death which I found to be beautiful but peculiar. It was not the typical funeral of lowering someone down, saying a few prayers, and having that send off all within a mere few hours. I think by the time of the third day of the funeral, it became a casual affair.

I may sound like I am making light of things but really it was so much different from the funeral of my paternal grandfather, which was a Catholic funeral and it was held at a church and on the same day, we buried him. This time around, I noticed more white headbands been worn by our immediate family, and instead of a priest, a Buddhist monk spoke to us. He was reminding us of the cycle of life and death and the way of things. I drifted at this point only because I thought of the way in which we take words at this stage of grief. Every single word said in such delivery meant so much to us, but it was difficult to register. Perhaps, because it was in my second language and whatever I did understand, I did not necessarily agree with. Like the priest, the monk had this authoritative presence and was equally commandeering in his speech to the point he liked hearing himself talk.

However, I found that funerals gave grief a bit of needed order but somehow, I found myself at odds with the dominion in which tradition dictated how we go about a process like grief. Not so much that it was Buddhist, rather the idea that beliefs played such a crucial role in the way in which our lives became centered on propagating a way to live almost in service to the idea. I knew that my grandfather was Buddhist and is the rest of my mother's side, so who am I to say that the funeral should be catered to my beliefs or rather lack thereof, though I regard myself as spiritual. Having said that, I wondered what my funeral would be like. I really hope my funeral focuses on engagement amongst the mourners as if it was indistinguishable from a birthday party. I would want all my loved ones to get to know one another and share memories of who I was. I suppose we rarely ever have that experience of all our loved ones being around us, with the exception of when we get married or at our deaths. As a person who has not been married or has died (yet), I know that when my time comes to an end, I would want those around me to bring life into those memories so that someday they would be easier to remember in time, for there is no better way get a better picture of someone than to hear stories of who they were and how they touched those around them.

As the monk spoke, I found myself wandering aimlessly in my own thoughts but somehow still aware of my environment. I really did appreciate his talk on impermanence. It resonated deeply with what I was envisioning in my mind , the thought of things as impermanent. It was like things were never really there and as if we were never really here. The moment had already passed and all that we know is already gone. By that point, Buddhism became a recurring theme in the wake of my Grandpa's death, especially in between the years I last saw him to when I attended his funeral. I like the idea of Buddhism being grounded in philosophy, I find that there is an important link between religion, philosophy, science, and spirituality. I find they all relate and pertain to the greater questions in our quest to find our place in this world. I found it comforting to think about this in the midst of the funeral. I came to really appreciate Buddha's teaching, especially in his reminder of the impermanence of things. He really did articulate that aspect of life so well, giving us insight into the grander scheme of things. This for me was reassuring and comforting knowing many millennia ago people faced the very same dilemmas.

Death is only temporary

Life is temporary and so are moments. Even memories that we attach to people, places, and things. Attachment in the form of material attachment is an interesting concept in light of the way in which Buddhist practice their lives. This relationship did not seem to provide all of the answers. It's easy for Buddhist monks to renounce material and people when they have isolated themselves. But how do we, as those born into a world with family and love decidedly abandon those who we are meant to take care of? Buddha was wise and easily commendable but he would not have made father or husband of the year, though I'm sure with his fervor he was doing more good by spreading his profound teachings. Still, it seems too easy to abstain from the material world. It's somewhat contradictory or so, I thought to myself with the way in which we as material beings need the material world to continue to exist. Though at this point in this sermon, it gave me comfort in a sense, with this reminder of death, that someday we will all meet the same fate. Each and every one of us has to face this revelation. That all that we are, in all its forms will decay and fade away.

It still frightens me the whole decaying process. I don't want to die and I know I cannot live forever. It really is quite defeating. It's no wonder they cover us in burials, not only is it respectful but it saves us from the reminders of the most frightening aspects of living, that we die and dissipate with time, every fragment of us. I recall now a conversation with my friend, Thành, he always felt uneasy every time I talked about death. I was not only curious but furious as to why he never thought of it. The reason being was that it scared him. I thought to myself that if there were anyone more scared of death, it was me. I think about it every waking second, from crossing traffic, nearby thunderstorms, swerve drivers, erratic palpitations relating to stress or induced from a mad man on the train. Thinking about death is so normal and necessary, it's embedded in us humans for survival. Yet now that we feel invincible, are we less inclined to think about the implications that we may just be easily wasted away? I can say I was for the most part incensed Thành would not share with me his thoughts on death because sharing our thoughts on death is the closest thing we can do. Telling another person our thoughts on our place in the universe means the world to us. I guess it reminded me that the difference between closeness resided in the fact of sharing and even in the intimateness of looking into someone's eyes or as Fiona would jokingly say, seeing them naked.

It makes a world of difference to be intimate with someone. It is equally frustrating that people could go by life without reflecting on death just because it scared them. It also meant they harbored fewer thoughts about life itself. They are just living but perhaps that could be the best way to get the most out of things if we happen to spend too much time dwelling? No, the very act is limiting in itself, to go by life without any thought of what it means. I bet Albert Camus would roll in his grave if we all went by life without the thought of it all. Yes! Somehow in a strange sensation of injustice, that supposed soul of his would reanimate and haunt everyone who did not even attempt to confer meaning towards their lives. He was right that life was absurd and never intended to have meaning but that does not mean we cannot give purpose to it or live life with meaning. It only requires forethought, without it, we may as well deny ourselves the marvelous and miraculous gift of rumination.

To grow is to gather and move forward

With death on my mind, all I could think about was making the most of what I wanted to do in this life. Although my concerns about the future, from the importance of careers and expectations, suddenly phased into the background of my focus when I thought about death looming. I thought long and hard about my grandfather after his death and while his life was extinguished, mine was only starting to take shape. Naturally, I wanted to make the most out of life by first seeing what was out there.

A few weeks after my grandfather's funeral, I jetted off with Thành for a road trip across the U.S. First, we ventured to San Francisco together. I had thoroughly enjoyed my time, the last time I was there. This time around I was more adventurous and decided to walk the Golden Gate Bridge which to date was the most exhilarating feeling I had ever felt, partly because I survived an early onset of hypothermia, which further reminded me of my aliveness, and for that I was grateful. I believe now that I was my most conscious self when I was moving around and experiencing new things. With traveling and just being on the move, I sensed myself growing with every new phenomenon I was exposed to. The distance covered magically added layers to my being. Everything from seeing snowfall for the first time in Chicago to seeing excess at its finest in Las Vegas. Those goddamn lights still blind me!

It was here on this journey away from home and exploring that I actually started to write again to document the experience. The beauty of exploration however came with frightening realizations, which was  the more we take on board the more we have to lose. But our role is to discover as much as we can to get the most out of things. Now that I was away from home I realized more once outside it, we cannot quite grow completely until we are on our own. Actually, it works both ways, we will also never find ourselves completely without others. But it was this time alone exploring that allowed me to gather certain insights. Visiting places helps us realize more that time and space configured are transitory as with every moving moment. Everything continually slides into something different. Like with places, if we think about it, no place is ever the same. No same people occupy the same spots, every day. No one place is the same at any given moment. And so, when we go somewhere, we are going where no one has gone before and more so, never has anyone else seen things as we have for the first time. This is the beauty of when we go to venture and explore.

Through this journey of exploring, it felt like my eyes were truly open for the first time, or I had entered into unknown territory without fear or reservations - just curiosity and a burning desire to explore. I knew having entered into this realm, I could never go back to how I was before nor would I have wanted to. This became more noticeable when I recall an incredibly memorable moment climbing up Bethesda Castle, you know the one right in the middle of Central Park? On an overcast day, I climbed to the top and stared across to the skies and all the people beneath. I felt my old self fading, not lost but no longer mirroring a stillness. On top of this castle-like monument overlooking the Jackie Onassis Reservoir, I thought about her dead husband and his speeches that marked a significant time in history, and here many decades later, he was no longer here on this Earth. I thought about how it mirrored the way ripples formed after skids of a stone on a pond, temporal but noticeable, at least enough to be remembered. With that notice, I was reminded more of aliveness. I myself was growing as I moved along.

In America, I had noticed that things moved faster. In hindsight, perhaps I didn't move fast enough with it. Like a typical tourist, I had to go to touristy places just to tick things off a list. Though it wasn't for the purpose of showing off to people that you had been to a certain place but more the fact that we come with the expectation that the best experiences would come with visiting famous places. Though I would come to learn that it was actually the journey of exploring and even being lost at times that brought to life the magical feeling of traveling. Funnily enough, I missed out on and regret not seeing the Statue of Liberty after running out of time in NYC. It would have been such an experience to have gone by in a ferry and to imagine the same feeling of those who had once passed and gleamed at it with renewed hope. That was a feeling I wished to understand more, the migration , after all, I was a product of it. So, I regretfully admit that I ran out of time by visiting a crappy diner that charged me seven dollars for fries just because a famous scene was shot there, When Harry Met Sally, in case you were wondering.

One of the seven wonders was within range and yet I only saw it from a distance. In some way, I'm glad I had not yet seen any wonders of the world (at the time). Imagine if you've seen all of them, it would be like, what's next? No more wondering I guess. Though maybe we needed to go out and explore to be reminded of what we have. Time away they say makes us realize what we have at home. It seems like we have a lot when we really think about it, but it is forgotten with time. Sometimes we need to be reminded that those most important to us, those considered most dear will always be a part of us. Perhaps that is why some people never leave their immediate home, they have everything that they need right there with them. In death, it becomes even more noticeable, the immediate things are important to us once more. I was told by my Grandma who was by her husband's side in his final moments that he was happy when he died. It was evident, I saw his face at the funeral. He had died with a smile on his face. How incredible yet eerie I thought, but for the most part I was happy with his predicament. He may have had a hard life but he was granted the best possible way to go  - with a smile on his face and with an amazing woman by his side

The death of things gives us the gift of life

I thought more about how death allows us to be reminded of the limited time we have. I suppose it is reasonable to say that death reminds us of the absence of time no longer available to us. Thoughts of past, present, and future fades with every present moment and the present moment is already fading. After my grandfather's death, I wondered more about the importance of living in the present moment, though I find we need to see the past, present, and future as equals, that is, we need a relative perspective of it all. For even the present moment cannot be reflected on without remembrance of what has unfolded and what will come to happen. The concept of time does bring about uneasiness for such reasons, there's anxiety having to reflect on the past for we cannot change what happened. Then we get even more anxious in the present moment for we have to plan the future so that our needs are met. But we cannot escape this, if we could see time as a relative concept then perhaps we can find solace in our actions and in our thoughts that concern themselves with the improvement of the past so that way once it happens we can live with the knowledge that we have tried our best.

Though all too often, things pass without us even realizing it. But reminders of the past come rushing back to us through triggers, just like a death, providing us with moments where we can reflect. With his death, my grandfather's life gave way for me to understand the life in which I myself had led. If it weren't for my grandfather's death, I would not have gone on to know what I know now and let alone, go on to write what I have now and everything else that followed. I even wonder if I would have come to be a writer without his passing, as the exploration of this period was the very first piece I started writing after his death and I have not looked back since.

Like any death, my grandfather's death is cause for sorrow, and regret. But thankfully, with it came a gift of renewal and of remembrance. It imparted me with important lessons that allowed me to be who I've come to be. But more importantly, it gave me insights into how we should approach life, such as how we should tell our stories best we can. Someday we will go and no one will ever know who we were or how we felt. After all, who we were is no longer us when we're gone. I wondered more about the importance of sharing before we all had to say goodbye to others and of this life. Sometimes we do not even get the chance to say goodbye. So, with my writing, I was given the opportunity to express all I could before my time ends.

I remember on my final day in the United States, I woke up reflecting on my journey. I wanted to compress all my memories so that a montage could play in my head. It was filled with highlights and moments that were both poignant and worth remembering. One moment, in particular, stood out, I remember overlooking the Statue of Liberty from Battery Park, the chill was intolerable as I trudged through the snow. It reminds me of the music video of my favourite song of all time, Pictures of You by The Cure. I happened to be listening to it while reflecting on a love I thought I had but also preparing myself for the inevitable heartbreak of loss in the future while re-living all my broken-hearted experiences in this lifetime. It made me feel alive and my spirit was uplifted and despite the cold ocean breeze, I found things to appreciate like the intermittent sprinkle of sun-setting that was warming as it was welcoming. As prior to it, I was reminded more of death when I equated the sensation of the cold snow and breeze with the perpetual equilibrium of the universe at world's end. How exuberant it all felt to be alive at that moment, it felt like the closest one could ever be to being in a state of bliss. It was not a state of ecstasy nor a moment of pleasure. It was an awakening followed by a momentary pause in time. I felt myself entering another realm separate from this world. It was another beginning.

Moving forward means leaving things behind for which I had to do when I returned home. So as I left, I said goodbye to my deceased Grandpa who I barely knew, left behind a love I thought I had at the time, departed a city where I found to be home someday but not quite yet, left footprints in the snow without evidence of ever being there. I think now of the moment my Grandpa was lowered to the ground wondering if he was ever here. Of course he was here, no matter how brief it was. I also said goodbye to my Grandma as I hugged her goodbye knowing that may be the last hug I ever give her. And at that moment in time, I said bye to the person I was before all this and left him behind. I also waved bye to the  joy and wonder of being somewhere else, someone else, and the infinite possibility of what I could be on the journey where I discovered, grew and lived more than I had ever before. And I say goodbye to my friends and family I had to leave on my way home. I will never know when I will get to see them again. A whole lifetime could pass in the time between.

Life has a way of separating us, maybe they're just called paths. These circles and lines are drawn, sometimes they will intersect, maybe someday we will converge on these intersections. That's if things go according to plan, or if we ever feel comfortable enough to make time for the things that really matter. But I guess we cannot do whatever we could because if we could, we'd be with the ones we love all the time, doing all that we love. Then maybe there wouldn't be any meaning in that? Maybe, this was the best I could ever ask for. I recently learned that birds can feel the gravitation of this earth, which they use to navigate. Perhaps we needed this sense to be reminded of the feeling, because what guides us, what do we gravitate to when we need direction? Some of us never move anywhere or even explore. We even forget about the paths that we have gone through and the paths that we could take.

On my flight home, I felt in the present moment, life would never be the same. I was right at the time but I stand corrected for every moment brings about a change. We are concurrently living the past, present, and future as we move forward, these changes are by the second. Maybe we need to be more like birds, remembering our paths for the sake of all those that we have touched. I envy birds in this way despite my fear of flying. Two years before this trip, on my flight home, I wrote a note in my diary, put it in my breast pocket, in case I died and they found my body. I wanted the message to reach a girl who at the time I thought was going to be the one. How romantic and youthful I was until death reminded me that not everything has to have a happy ending.

I do not believe in reincarnation, well to some extent physically, the whole recycling part but not coming back as another form. I imagined myself now a bird though, in the midst of turbulence flying back to my hometown, I did not flinch this time around like last time. Somehow everything felt okay. I was not ready to die but somehow ready to embrace what may come. It even excited me a little, this joy and gratefulness of being alive. But yes, how interesting it would be, if we were more like birds, keeping track of our paths and the freedom to fly anywhere we want. I would like to think birds prefer to fly in flocks than alone. So, on the plane, as I said goodbye, quite literally because I still feared possible death from turbulence. I thought if death loomed, what was to be on my mind at the time? Walking through snow, gardening with Grandma, being on the move, exploring? The montage continued reeling in my head and as time went on the images fragmented and with the distance it all dissipated, slowly and eventually reduced to nothing. I thought more about how it all became cemented in time and in my mind. And so, I may meet them again and I will meet more people moving forward, see new places and things but… then you fade away, all of you, each and every one of you. There was simply no escaping this and going forward I had to embrace it.

With my grandfather's death, came another remembrance of life, allowing me to feel more alive than ever. Even with sorrow, I was with joy knowing I had lived my share of a lifetime. Though, in this lifetime, I knew that no matter how much I loved people and things, someday it will all fade away. What I learned most was how time defeats us in many ways and what I also learned was things unsaid will forever haunt you. And then I realized things said, end too. But it is better to have done than not done at all, the experience of it all means too much. So, I say to this moment in time, for the love of the people I have ,  in life and in death, I say thank you and I love you all, even when you fade away. For what do I do but to keep loving you and thanking you, all of you, at least until the very day I could no longer anyway? I say to myself that though you fade away, it's very much okay. We've had our time and with it stays a loving concoction of time and place. Once there, always there, ever there, right to the very end.