Death is treated with a forced sterility in some of the Western world. We hold our noses, wear masks, quickly whisk away bodies in specialized vehicles, lest anyone be forced to see a corpse. We paint the faces of the deceased with makeup so we may remember them as they once were, instead of as they currently are. We are removed from death, and so we do not really understand it. I remember walking into the hospital morgue to see Amr a final time before he was buried. He was still in his clothes, his face still stained with some blood. One of the things I noticed immediately was that he was covered with a heavy blanket that looked familiar to me. It was a mixture of light and dark brown with a flower pattern on it. I thought it was strange because it was so similar to the one he used at his parents’ home in the winter. Today I happened upon a picture of a doctor who died in an Egyptian prison after being denied medical care. While his body lay motionless on his bed and his grieved wife was embracing him, I noticed that he was wrapped up in a shroud… just a thin, regular bed sheet with intricate flower patterns. The things we happily purchase and use in our daily lives become the things we use on our dead. The blankets, the sheets. When push comes to shove, and someone dies, there is often no separation between that which is used on the dead and that which is used on the living. You may soon be wrapped in the bed sheet you sleep on. Your body and face may soon be covered with the same blanket you huddle under for warmth. Outside the western parameters that espouse an unnatural obsession with separating life and death, the dead are often transported in regular family cars, being held close on the laps of those who love them. Their blood stains your clothes. Their blood stains the cloth seats of the car. The dead are carried on the shoulders of men, not silently transported in thick wooden coffins. They hold, in their hands, what was once alive, beautiful, thriving. They see it, they touch it, and then they put it in the ground and watch as it is sealed in darkness upon darkness. Every soul shall taste death. It is a concept we hate to think about. An idea we do not want to approach until we presumably reach old age. But in reality, nothing about death is clean or palatable. We are not far removed from it, as the deception of this world will have you believe. It is frightening, but it is the truth. It is only when you see it, touch it, and breathe its scent that you know – it is coming for you, too. We love our bodies but bodies perish. If we only loved our eternal souls, and feared for their well-being as we fear for our bodies, we wouldnt fear death as we do. We would understand that it is messy and painful, but necessary. It is necessary to die, so we can truly live. Our Lord, bestow upon our hearts concern for that which is lasting, over that which will perish.
Posted on: Fri, 14 Nov 2014 04:50:18 +0000
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