Immortality is not an option, so we must face the music sooner or later. On a grand scale, the life of a person is not very noticeable; thousands of people embark on their last journey every day. Yet, those closest to us feel particularly special. I’ve been told that everyone processes such an event in their own way, and I’m no different.
For some, the journey starts abruptly, while for others, the beginning stretches out, like trailers in a movie theater before the main show. The prolonged ones seem to be the most difficult. Horrible pain and suffering, without even a glimpse of hope. Can you imagine being sick—having an endless flu, a fever that never breaks, constant headaches, muscle pain, coughing, and a runny nose? And along with all of this, you know, you understand, there is no getting better. There is no recovery. This will end in only one way. Now, multiply that pain several times over.
Departures are always sad. We miss loved ones, even when they embark on a great journey, yet these departures aren’t typically accompanied by excruciating pain that lasts for months on end. After all the pain, suffering, and goodbyes, the journey begins. So shouldn’t we rejoice that our loved one has finally embarked? Shouldn’t we feel some happiness, at least for their sake? Not for our own selfish feeling of being left behind, but joy for their journey—for their release, for the end of their suffering, when nothing more could be done. I don’t know the right answer. I just feel serene, with a trickle of sadness and joy. In my mind, it is not about me; it is about them, wherever they are now.
Rest now, Aunt Zoya.
