The Brightness of Snow

The key turned. Ah, the correct one, and he walked into the empty physician’s lounge, from the low light of the windowless hallway to the bright intensity of the sun reflecting through the slightly tinted glass and he was blinded, reflexively raising his hand to his eyes. For a moment it looked like snow on the patio. He wanted it to be snow, to match his somber mood, but it doesn’t snow here in Mississippi, especially on the Gulf Coast during the summer. He tucked his keys on their lanyard, decorated with cow’s on a green field, into his crowded scrub shirt pocket, straightened his lab coat, and made his way over to the Keurig. He searched his pockets for his readers, finding them at his feet where they had fallen. That must have been the click that he barely registered a moment ago as he pulled his lab coat together. He smiled at his distraction. He blinked though the almost clean lenses and searched the selection. Newman’s Special Blend, with lots of sugar since there was no artificial sweetener to be had. He stirred it, and relented to his smoldering emotions with a sigh, paused to gaze at the pattern of the patio bricks, sipped his coffee, and made his way out.
 
He slowly paced himself upstairs to the neonatal intensive care unit, where the family was gathering to say good-bye. Good-bye to their sweet infant girl, burdened by a lethal genetic anomaly, all the curses that came with it, and few others for good measure. She had lived for a couple of weeks, having survived one life-saving surgery, and another for comfort. She had never been truly strong, and then she died an hour ago, silently, painlessly, fading in the loving embrace of the nurse that rocked her, in the company of all the nurses in the unit who had gathered unspoken to be with her, while her family came from many miles away. He had called dad, told him to gather everyone for the time had come, and to be safely on their way. And now they had.
 
The nurses had made all the other parents leave the unit which upset him. He felt that death was not something to be afraid of, to be protected from. The family would be with their baby in another room... But the nurses were just doing what they always do, they were trying to do right. He knew he was just being cranky, and let it go. Being afraid of death, of the emotions wrought, it made no sense to him. Death is the end of life, it happens to all of us, and no matter how sad or tragic, it is something we need to experience as humans to live, not something to be protected from. We cannot handle it when it comes if we are taught it is a time for fear and anger, that we and others need protection from our morbid emotions. But we are taught to be ashamed of ourselves, uncomfortable with our raw feelings, the pained emotions of others, and so the room was cleared even though they would never enter. But they knew, they knew a life had ended... He smiled when he saw the family’s other small children, for they understood, these parents, and wanted their children to know the life and death of their sister for what it was, the end of life, nothing more, nothing to be afraid of, nothing to mythologize.
 
The pastor came, came to them, said the right words, and bolstered the family through this trial with their strong faith. It allowed them to ignore His wrath for what they needed to see as His mercy. They needed the myth to ease their pain, it was theirs, and he said nothing. That they celebrated her life and her being family was enough, that she would be remembered and loved was all that mattered to him. He sat with the family and spoke softly to the children, asking them if they understood she had died, encouraging them to touch her, hold her hand, to remember their sister. He told them someday they would ask, and their parents would tell them a fond tale of love, and they would remember, grateful he taught them not to fear her, that they had touched her, that she was real for having been loved and touched. Through tears, her father took his hand and whispered, “Thank you…” again, and again, and he looked to his children so his meaning would be clear. He left them then, gathered in their emotions, and for the children in celebration of their sister.
 
His office door was open, emptied recently of his belongings as he was moving out, away from this place. He found his coffee a bit cooler, no less overly sweet, and sipped it as he rocked back and forth in the chair, unknowingly soothing himself. This he knew, that life has its own meaning, that death is a part of life, and that the deep sadness comes from a journey’s end, not the journey itself, for if the journey continues whatever wrong can be righted. Her life started wrong, and yet it ended right, and there was in this good human beings who chose love and compassion. They overcame fear and anger to love and hold. This is what her death told him. Do not fear death, fear lack of love and compassion along the way, most at your journey’s end. Live each day so that those who gather will remember you, and not an imaginary god and his wrath, or their pain and suffering.
 
He finished his coffee, went back into the unit, and said good-bye to the family as they prepared to leave, and lastly, good-bye to the child who reminded him his journey might end any moment now. He was not afraid, and his mind did not wander to the next life, for this one is a magical journey, and that is all he needed to know.
 
Dying too, is a part of life.
~ Marcus Aurelius