One of Us

A few days ago, I wrote about my (almost) 24 years of life. My arrogance was ever-present; reflecting and writing about my 24 years as if they were a birth-right, something guaranteed to me, a contract. I wrote about accepting things as they were sometimes - 'it is what it is' - and whilst I wrote about the irony of that simple reality being so difficult to accept, I boasted proudly about how it was a lesson I was fast learning. 

Admittedly, that was a lie. I know it was a lie because late last night, my cousin died. And despite what my self-assured ramblings may project, I could not be further from 'it is what it is'. Because what it is, is a fucking joke. A joke I just cannot understand. 

At 26, she was a graduate, happily married with a beautiful 3 year old boy. A few weeks ago, at 7 months pregnant, she began feeling ill. 8 days ago, life happened, and after giving birth to a baby girl, she never woke up. Her body slowly failed her, and last night, it decided it was done. 

Despite all my realism, I cannot count how many times I have wished this to be a mistake. She has been buried, and yet I cannot seem to stop wishing her alive. You read in newspapers sometimes that people just come back to life. I keep telling myself that happens to some people. Maybe those people could be us? And that's just it - it could have been us. Any one of us. All us girls are the same. We were raised the same, we played together, we led similar lives. As we all sit, immersed in disbelief, and seeing ourselves in her - that's all we can think. It could have been any one of us. Until we realise, it was one of us. 

But why? Why such arrogance, such vanity, such solid belief that life is guaranteed more to us than any other because we still have our youth? Babies are born into the world lifeless. Mothers lose their newborns as they cradle them in their arms. Children stop breathing. Teenagers sometimes go to sleep, and don't wake up. Young people die all the time - casually defying the natural cycle of life. So why not one of us?

When I was young, I used to scoff at people who used to throw themselves at God's mercy when something was wrong, or they needed help. "That's so hypocritical" I'd say. "You only pray when you need God's help. What about all the other times when you're just living? You don't pray then." Yesterday, for the third time in my adult life, I was once again that very hypocrite. As I grovelled before God, I asked what was hurting me more: begging for the life of one of us, or knowing that I was not worthy of begging for anything, let alone expecting that prayer to be answered. 

This beautiful girl, who was so happy and content in her life, had ambitions and desires for her future, a husband who loved her dearly and whom she adored - just stopped living. Her reflections on her years were only going to take her this far. Somewhere, it was written that this absurd tragedy, this completely senseless and twisted reality, was going to play out exactly like this. And whilst we all existed, blissfully unaware, we all played our parts in getting to this very moment. It's funny - you try to play the game your way, not realising you're actually just another piece on the board whose moves have been numbered. And yet, I cannot help but feel slighted, cheated, betrayed, even. But why? Because my own illusion of 'forever' was shattered? People don't belong to us. And yet such is the toxic nature of love - it fills you with the disease of 'forever'. 

Then I think, perhaps her 26 years were plenty. She had such a beautiful soul; always smiling, always content, never a bad word about anyone. Perhaps 26 years of leading a life full of gratitude, and with contentment meant that she had passed. She had proven herself to be what the human mechanism strives for - kind, patient, and loving. So why drag her through the trials and tribulations, pains and slights, ups and downs of this unsteady life? I guess that's one way to make peace with it. Truthfully, however, peace is far from it. For those two innocent children, who deserve the love of their mother, there is no peace. For the man who had planned to grow old with the love of his life, there is no peace. For the parents who have had to bury their wonderful daughter, there is no peace. 


In the shadows of this great despair, you can but only hope that peace comes in the form of realisation - that life is fragile, and people don't live forever. That love and kindness are the foundations of living well. And that without one another, we are merely empty vessels, floating aimlessly. 

"And it is He who has brought you all into being out of one living entity, and has appointed for each of you a time limit on earth and a resting place after death." (6:98)