From the interview on National Public Radio station 20th October 2011, the poet Marie Howe in her poem “What the Living Do” describes the loss of her beloved brother and her living beyond the loss. Her brother John was very sick before his death. Howe and the rest of the family loved one another. This love was generously shared with John their brother before his death.
Death is a common experience in which everyone shares. It is one of the realities that comes into everyone’s life and reminds them of both loss and hope. For loved ones, it is a loss in the sense that they would not be able to see and feel and hear this person again. But there is hope in the sense of feeling fulfilled for having shared life with this deceased loved one. According to Howe, one’s life is never the same again. Even if the dying person knew s/he was dying, it is always difficult for both the deceased and the living to let go.
This reminds me of the death of my Dad. He was a very good father to all, both his biological children and the neighbors’ children. He was popularly known as “Baba Yaara” meaning father of all children. He was sick for about five months, yet he still went about his daily work. I remember our last conversation vividly; it comes back to me all the time. Although he is dead, he lives forever in my memory.
His death was a shock to all of us. I remembered my elder sister saying “No, it can’t be true.” “It’s not my father!” “Tell me it’s a lie.” I was devastated myself, thinking about the past and imagining the future. It was like how we are going to survive without him. We were very young when he died. The oldest was twenty-one, just finishing high school, and the youngest was four. She still did not know her right hand from her left. She kept asking everybody “Where is my Dad?” “Take me to go see him”. It was difficult for my Mum to accept the reality too that her beloved husband was gone. Just as Howe write “. . . my life has changed, so really I don’t know how to live it anymore. And then, you know, you find a way.” So also, my family was never the same again. Our consolation during this loss period was the love we shared with him. Hardly would a day go by without mentioning his name in one way or the other.
Death is certain. It is part of our lives. It does not give us any option whenever it knocks. The love we share with our loved ones before they depart from us remains our only consolation. Just as Howe was joyfully remembering her brother’s death, even writing a poem in his honor, so also, my family and I do remember our father’s life and death with a sense of fulfillment to have shared in his love.
