I first learned about death when my elder sister told me that our Grandma had just passed away in Cantho. I was about 6 or 7 years old then. I felt sad because my Mom had left me for the funeral without saying much, and it took several days, or maybe a whole week, before she finally returned home. I sensed something serious about "death." All my brothers, sisters and I had to wear a black rectangular piece of cloth on our shirts or blouses. My Dad did, too. At school when friends asked me about the small piece of black cloth, I felt the passing away of my Grandma had made me more important, and the black color symbol more valuable. But I was too young to grasp the meaning of death, and what death actually was. Serious, sad, and especially important...were all the epithets that I could associate with death at that age.
The second time the feelings recurred to me was when my paternal Grandpa deceased, also in the same province as my maternal Grandma did. Most of my siblings had to attend that funeral, probably because my Dad was the eldest in his family, and had to play an important role in the ceremony together with his wife and eldest son and daughter. I myself couldn't be there, because I had to go to school, and was still too young for such a long trip. I might have been a burden to my Mom during that difficult time.
It was in my 7th grade that I had to attend a funeral for the first time. Unfortunately, that was the funeral of one classmate of mine, who lived just one block away from my home, and who overdosed herself in order to commit suicide. It was an unforgettable incident in my childhood years, because the girl was too young, and we used to ride our bikes side by side on the way home from school. She was a pretty, and cheerful girl with long, thick hair, a sweet smile and a warm voice. Nobody in our class knew why she ended her life in such a tragic way. The family might know, but as her classmates we didn't dare to ask, and were never able to find out.
There might have been several funerals of neighbors and relatives that I had to attend after that, but now I can hardly remember, being so busy with life myself as I grew up into adulthood and had a lot of responsibilities.
When I was 23, my Dad passed away in hospital, several hours after he was rushed from home to the ER. Around a week before that his health had improved, and the doctor allowed him to go home after he had stayed in hospital for nearly a month. I wasn't with him during his last minutes, but my two elder sisters were. It was the first time I witnessed the loss of a dear family member to death. There was a strange feeling when I realized that the line between life and death was so fuzzy: the previous moment the deceased was still here with the living, still moving, talking and sipping water....Then the next moment, no more. Just a motionless body, without any response nor reaction. Suddenly, I wonder who and where my Dad actually was at the moment. Was he the body lying there? Or was he invisible somewhere looking at his own body, and at us standing around him? I was not weeping or crying as I was looking at his body, which was getting colder and stiffer. I simply couldn't accept what had just happened to our family yet. I felt empty in my heart and numb in my brain, with very inexplicable perceptions and weird sensations.
Several years after I lost my Dad, my eldest brother left me forever. He spent several of his last years in nursing homes. His son had a dream about him the night he passed away, all alone in the nursing home. But I believe he died happily, because he had reunited with his only son near the end of his life, who kindly visited him regularly and made sure everything was ok for his Dad during those last years they spent time together on earth.
Then my ninth brother and my Mom departed us, one after the other, just one week apart. I wonder why it could happen that way. Was their bond so strong that they had to depart this world together, with the son summoning his Mom to follow his path? I felt very sad when the news came. It was the saddest day in my life, I believe.
On my birthday this year I lost my 4th sister. She had suffered from a stroke and had to be confined to bed for a long time before she actually passed away. Perhaps hers was the most prolonged and pitiful death I have ever known so far in my family. She didn't get married, but near the end of her life, she had 2 sisters and 2 brothers take care of her, with the assistance of professional healthcare providers. I should think she passed away in peace. As she was a Catholic, her memorial service was at a nearby church. But after the cremation services, her ashes was to be kept in a shrine inside the church near my sister's house, not far away from the Buddhist temple where my parents' and brother's ashes were preserved.
In retrospect and many times in solitude, I realize that death is part of life, just as life is part of death. We have been dying several times before we actually die at the end of our lives. Where is the little girl of one or two years of age in the photo that I call "myself"? The same has happened to other members in my family and in your family, to all humans, and perhaps to all creatures on earth. Every being is transformed in every instant. We are not the same "we" anymore in every instant. Our cells and tissues all change. And so there is nothing about death that we should fear, for we have died so many times within our life span, haven't we? Death is simply form transition, at least to me.
Although Death is a taboo subject in the West, people in the East, especially Buddhists, view it as part of Life itself; hence, why should we Buddhists fear it? It is a normal change, one phase among the many phases in the endless birth-death cycle. Death is one destination of one life journey. Nobody can avoid it. We all will get there, sooner or later. Another reason for us not to fear Death could be that in the next life things will probably get better, or let's just hope so. Perhaps we should practice contemplating on death every day and night, just to view it as something familiar, not so terrible, not a taboo. Such is the way Tibetans view death, and that is the reason why they do not fear death.
