I once met a young boy, already so disappointed and fed up with life, that wanted to let go. But so incomprehensible was his death wish to me, that I made it my mission to prove to him that life was worth living. So I held him in my arms and I lulled him with my words and I did manage to hold him back for a little while. But then one day the boy decided it was time to leave. And so he tried. The next words I heard from him where from inside a psychiatric clinic. The boy had failed. Maybe deep inside he wanted to fail. Maybe he was just crying out for help. So help he got, and he managed to survive, and he’s still among us and probably happy. But lately I have been thinking a lot about that death wish of his, for I’m not so certain anymore if life is always worth living.
I don’t believe in suicide and I don’t believe in letting go. Rather, I believe in doing your best with what you’ve got, and since life is what you’ve got, you might as well do something with it. Besides, I’m too much of a dreamer to simply quit. Dreams are like “floating spars to men that rise and sink and rise and sink again.” Still, these last few months that I’ve seen my mom come so close to death, I’ve often thought that maybe it would have been better if death had flirted with me instead of her. For there come times when death to me does not seem so scary.
Obviously when you are healthy it’s impossible to empathize with someone who’s ill. Yet I really tried to put myself in her place to see how it felt. And in my attempt it was not fear I felt, but rather resignation. I felt that if it had been me, it wouldn’t have really mattered - to me - so I would have just accepted my fate. It might have mattered to others (my mom for sure), but not to me – for there is nothing of significance holding me back in this life. Besides, most of the times it feels as if I’m living someone else’s life and, well, death cannot be that scary when it’s approaching a life that is not your own. But then again, you cannot really feel how it feels when death is near, until death is actually there…
Then I got me thinking that even if my life was significant to me, it still would not be of significance to anyone else (except to my mom, for it must be tragic losing a child). My mom’s life, on the contrary, is significant to so many people. She is a doctor and has patients who need her. She is a mother, a sister, a daughter, so she has a family that needs her. She is a good friend, so she has friends who need her. But who the hell really needs me? Apart from that, my mom has worked hard for so long and has created a life for herself. What have I created so far that really matters to me, let alone to other people? The thing is, if I were to leave, my death wouldn’t affect people to the same extent my mom’s death would. And that is the truth…
…and then, when you least expect them, come those bits and pieces of existence that make you so happy that you want to hold on to life as tight as you can. They aren’t those big, life-altering bits, like falling in love or succeeding in your career, but rather those tiny, insignificant bits, like attending a great concert, or having a laugh with a friend, or enjoying a starry night, that make you think “if only for this…life is worth living!”
