Senseless Death

A few years ago, we lost my beloved Nana to cancer. It was quick. She learned about having the disease one month, and a month or two later, she was gone. Her and my PopPop ultimately decided not to go through treatment (which probably would have been horrible for her), and instead elected to invite hospice into her home. She passed very peacefully in her own bed, near her husband of 53 years and surrounded by a loving family.

It was sad, but it was not tragic. I know in my heart I will see her again, and I feel her with me now. And I am consoled by the length and depth of her life. Nana had a wonderful marriage, four children, and ten grandchildren. She now has four great-grandchildren, and another on the way. She touched the lives of all of us, and of many more who I probably do not even know. Hers was a life fulfilled, and although I miss her, I can accept that she passed when it was her time.

That is why it pains me so much to read the news, which seems so full of senseless, needless death.

The worst stories, of course, feature children. The younger the child, the worse the story. It's sad how many little children we lose every year because someone tailgated on the highway to save themselves ten seconds of driving time, or because a caregiver or parent decided to have a few too many drinks or drugs and made some horrible decision. Whenever I read these stories, I cannot help but imagine trying to explain to that sad little soul why it was never given the opportunity to grow up, to fall in love, to have children of its own, or even to be cuddled one more time. (I almost tear up just writing this.) True accidents happen, and true tragedies can never be avoided, but when a little or care or patience on behalf of us adults could have given that little spirit more time on this planet, it makes me sick.

Even the stories about adults can really bother me, particularly if they leave children behind. Even if they don't, lives cut short before their time for no reason leave me with an overwhelming sadness. This past Friday (a "Black Friday" in many ways), a 34-year old man at a Wal-Mart (I think) was trampled to death. Although he was pushed over in the rush of shoppers to save a feew dollars, hundreds of people passed by before some tried to help, and even once the police showed up, the police were pushed and shoved as they tried to save his life. How do you explain that to his soul? What good reason can you give him that he does not get to see his family again, that he will never be a grandfather?

Am I different than other people because I cannot help thinking of these things? Because I hold my breath and fear for my boys every time someone tailgates me, or we get too close to the vehicle in front of us? Maybe most of us block this all out because we have to, but I have not learned how yet. I keep thinking that for all of us, eternal life awaits, but that we only get one chance on this planet. This one chance, this one life, is a blessing and a gift that can never be regiven once it is lost. The sadness of a soul when it is taken away too soon is overwhelming.

Of all the people I wish felt as I do (and those who tailgate are near the top of the list, since rarely is such great risk taken for so little gain), world leaders probably top the list. There likely are some causes worth dying for, but they are few and far between. Yet the world is always at war.