Remembering

“Death is the destination we all share, no one has ever escaped it. 

And that is as it should be because death is very likely the single best invention of life.” 

― Steve Jobs

When there is life, there is death. Every new life that comes to this world is guaranteed nothing but death that will ensue, albeit it being just a far-off concept that no one ever thought of at the present moment. But of course. Why would anyone think about that when they're too busy rejoicing in the beauty of this bundle of joy in their arms, their mini-selves. Unless you're like me, who's weird and morbid at times. It's a good thing then, that I'm not in the position where I have to deal with the contradictory emotions.

In medicine, it's hard not to think about death, when you're dancing around it on most days, if not all the time. Fact is, mortality stares at you all the time. Healthcare folks somehow learned not to be bothered by it, and just kept an arms' length from it, I suspect to protect themselves from being too emotional or overwhelmed, and also to be able to function and carry out their tasks. It's a matter of habit, and one can usually go about his/her daily business, focusing on the science/medical aspects of the job, instead of the life and death that is the core of what we do every day. But-- when it comes to someone we love or care about, it'd be tough, if not impossible, to ignore this aspect at all.

In all honesty, I only knew her personally for a short while, so I don't think I have the right to be tremendously affected when I heard of the news. And yet, I felt disproportionally affected- more than I think I should, because in that short period of time I've grown to care for her. She was this amazing, extremely capable, independent woman, who had accomplished so much both in her professional and personal lives, always positive, generous, caring, selfless, and determined. So when she found out she had this terminal illness, her personality and character didn't allow her any other way to deal with it other than facing it head on, with that fierce determination to beat it. Her grit, her strength, even at her weakest moment, amazed me, and touched me to my core, and I wished I could've done more for her. I almost believed that if anyone deserved a reprieve from a terminal illness, it would be her. It has to be her. I want it to be her. But alas, cancer is a b--ch, and there's a reason why terminal illness is called a terminal illness. And so when I heard, though it wasn't completely surprising, it was still a shock (that it happened sooner than I thought).

I want to be mad at God (if there is one), for taking a mother, a wife, a sister, a daughter, and a friend away from those of us whose lives she had touched. But my upbringing and beliefs also taught me that: 1) death is inevitable, and 2) life is unfair.  Couldn't exactly get angry at impermanence of life now, could we. As for the second point, I don't think anyone has come up with a solution for that yet.

Sigh.

I will always remember her as the beautiful person that she was, inside and out.

To those reading this, it seems cheesy or cliché to say it, but really-- cherish every moment of your life, and those around you, for you never know...  Tomorrow is promised to no one, today is all we have.