Life And Death

Life And Death by Carroll Carstairs

If death should come with his cold, hasty kiss
Along the trench or in the battle strife,
I'll ask of death no greater boon than this:
That it shall be as wonderful as life.

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I just finished reading The Memory Keeper’s Daughter at the end of last week. It tells of an orthopaedic who abandons his baby daughter because she has Down’s syndrome. This supposedly happened in 1964 by the way and at the time, the chances of any child with Down’s syndrome surviving his early years were low. It was this act that slowly tore his family apart.

I don’t blame him for what he did (is that bad of me?) because I think he did what he thought he had to do, he thought he did the right thing under the circumstances, and he thought that was the best thing for both his wife and daughter, believing the wife wouldn’t be able to cope with the news, believing he was protecting her and believing that the daughter’s survival was low. And I do wonder what I would have done differently if it had happened to me instead, if I had a child with Down’s syndrome. What would I have done? More importantly, would I have the courage and strength to accept this great test?

Sometimes I think I’m too afraid to ever have children for this reason. Because I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to cope and if I can accept the reality that my child is disabled, retarded or have a terminal illness.

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The world bade farewell to Michael Jackson last Thursday. I think it’s sad that this man with incredible talent became a shadow of his former self for the last two decades of his life (OK, thereabout). He became somewhat eccentric (if that is the right word), a recluse, made some bizarre choices and portrayed questionable behaviour (befriending minors, dangling his son over a balcony) so much so he was nicknamed Wacko Jacko.

And I think it’s sad that he seemed so alone pretty much all his life. Perhaps his childhood ended too soon or he rose to fame too quickly that he didn’t quite grow up, trapped somewhere between childhood and adulthood and seemed to shun company. And towards the end of his life he ran into financial difficulties too.

It seems to me that the world only talks glowingly of him after he’s gone.

I do hope that I die all alone and that I will not have to wait until I’m dead (which is too late anyway) to know if my family and friends appreciate me for who, what and how I am, and that they love me despite my shortcomings. So (and this is also a reminder to myself) let’s tell or at least show our loved ones how much we love and appreciate them when they’re still alive and not after they’re gone.