Reflections at Half-Mast

Death is, rightly, not a common topic of pleasant conversation. No sane person would regard death as anything approaching 'pleasant'. We do not talk about it, until it announces itself. This semester began with the death of junior Wendy Carman, a fellow Jumbo and a dearly close friend to many. Our flags flew at half-mast. Just weeks later, a tragedy for the nation arrived when the space shuttle Columbia broke apart upon re-entry. Our flags have stayed at half-mast. What does one do at half-mast?

I am not writing to those who are mourning now. I do not think any words of mine can reach you. In such a time, most words do not. In my own experience, in losing my father, I know that the best answer is often not in words but simply in another person. Someone who will listen, who will cry, who will embrace. Since I can do none of that from here, I speak to those who are left: the observers. We are in the awkward position of knowing about a death but not knowing who died. When death arrives, we do not know quite what to do with it. We keep our distance as much as we can and it gets more awkward the closer it comes. Death on the news and in history books is far away. Our newscasters inform us, over our pancakes and juice, of some new horrific and disturbing tragedy. And just then, in virtually the same inflection and poise, bids us stay tuned for tips on thinning our thighs or redecorating our bathrooms.

It is no wonder we are at a loss with death. We have been stupefied. We may not stay so distant much longer -- some of us may know servicemen and women abroad, a few may know citizens of Baghdad. But for now, as mere observers of death, we should take the time to think about how we respond to our friends who mourn (and ultimately to ourselves).

When we try to say something to console, even with the best of intentions, our words can often be crueler than we realize. Consider the common reply: "He will live on in our memories." There is no doubt that a loved one will be remembered when gone. But the last thing he will do in one's own mind is live. A memory is not a person. It cannot talk to you about anything new. So perhaps we offer this consolation: 'Time heals all wounds.' But we quickly find this is another confusion of types. Time is not personal. It can bandage no more than a dish can cook. Time is a speeding subway train that makes no stops. The perpetual succession of moments takes no notice of pain.

So what hope can we offer? 'Help another person'? 'Love the one you're with'? This becomes cruel upon deeper reflection. For while it is good and right, it is only encouraging until one recalls that any 'other person' will soon die as well. Death's sniper picks us off one by one. The fatality rate for humans on Earth remains steady at 100%. So we are sent back to wondering.

By far the cruelest response can be given by those most devoutly religious. There are those who meet death with an immediate smile, and cheerily chime, 'she's in a better place now.' Our friend here has glossed over a fact that cannot go away: death is a horror. It is the very horror of horrors. We somehow know that it should never have been like this. That a body severed from its soul is the most unnatural sight in all of nature. It ought to shock us, and drive us to remorse and to tears. We ought to weep, not only for our lost friend, but for what we see as our own fate as well. No empty words can comfort us.

Unless, of course, the words are true. That would make all the difference in the world. We might excuse our religious friend's enthusiasm making him insensitive to the horror of death; how could he not be excited, if what he says is true? Among people who have wondered at death in the history of the human race, in every culture save our own there has been a near unanimous conclusion: there is more to life than this. It is an outstanding claim. It seems to run contrary to all that we can see. But it is either true or false. Since it addresses our most important concern -- the fate of ourselves and our loved ones -- the most important question we could ever ask is, 'is it true?'

The day seven astronauts died, our President gave an answer: "The same Creator who names the stars also knows the names of the seven souls we mourn today. The crew of the shuttle Columbia did not return safely to Earth; yet we can pray that all are safely home." Can it be true? Is there a Creator beyond ourselves? Is there a Home we are meant for? Some say no, and give different answers. Either way, we must know the truth, the way things really are, for that will effect how we look at life and death. How differently we would see ourselves if it were true that such a Someone cares enough to know our names!

There is not room enough here to consider exactly how to pursue the question. But it should be clear that the very last thing we can do is ignore death when it does not affect us. I do not presume to say more than I ought. I know that the person who demands we take more notice of the tragedy, pain, and suffering around us has not yet conceived the tremendous volume of options available. If we were to give full face to the world's brokenness, we would quickly exhaust ourselves, and most likely not survive. One can cry for only so long before the face is too numb to sob. And the days, as we have noted, come whether we want them to or not, and with them new joys and disappointments, work and play, and all the bumps, fits, and laughs of daily life. But who can turn a blind eye to death, say 'these things happen' and go on eating, drinking, and sleeping to the next day? 'Coming to grips with death' does not mean distracting yourself to forget about it. We must realize death has its own grip on us already. We must seek to find why this is so, and what can be done about it. We can start by asking around until we find someone who will answer.

In the meantime, how do we respond to death when it does not affect us but those we care about? What can observers do? If we find a friend grieving, we must grieve with them. If we say anything at all, we must be sure it is true. There is no comfort apart from the truth.