Embracing grief, loss -- we're only human

Attending a funeral has always brought grief and an overwhelming sense of loss, at least for me. And I believe that most others have the same experience, particularly when the deceased is a friend or relative.

The weekend before Valentine's turned out to be a hard one for my extended family. We lost three members of my and my husband's family.

My cousin died on Tuesday while he was taking his doctorate examination at Airlangga University in Surabaya. Before we had even recovered from the shock, another news arrived that my husband's uncle had passed away on Thursday from a stroke and lung cancer.

On Saturday morning, we received another sad news that one of my aunts was in critical condition after having battled cancer for almost a year. The doctors had given up, and told the family to be prepared to lose her.

Less than 12 hours later, the saddest news of all arrived. It was evening, when I received word that my 11-month-old nephew, another cousin's son, had died. It was so unexpected, even though he had been scheduled to undergo heart surgery in mid-March.

When I met the boy's mother, she looked so strong and said that perhaps it was better this way.

"Even if he had the heart surgery, the doctor couldn't guarantee that he would survive. Maybe God has given the best by calling him home sooner," she said.

I tried hard to hold back my tears, but somehow they let loose and flowed over my cheeks at the cemetery during my nephew's funeral.

It was then that I suddenly recalled a conversation I had with a friend of mine.

He said that losing a loved one, be they friends or relatives, was simple mathematics.

Excuse me?

"Well," he explained, "if you die, for example, it means I subtract one from all the friends I have. So, why should I be saddened by your death?"

"Why are you saying this? Don't you have any compassion?" I asked.

"What is compassion? It's something abstract. It doesn't exist. Talk about something real. You've been listening to too many Dewa songs," he said, referring to one of Indonesia's top bands.

"One death will not change my life. My salary will stay the same, my sex life will still be OK, so why should I mourn one death?" he added. "I never understand why people cry at a funeral. Their tears won't bring the death back to life."

Even this long explanation made no sense to me. I was stunned, half shocked. Suddenly I looked at him -- he was smoking casually -- and saw a monstrous creature that had stepped out of an animated horror film.

My friend continued, asking me, "If you cry when a friend or relative dies, is it because you miss them or because you are afraid of having the same experience of losing a loved one yourself?"

I was again shocked. I couldn't answer his question, even as my nephew was being buried.

When I saw my cousin pass out after seeing her son being lowered into the ground forever, I couldn't help but cry. I was grief-struck and so very sorry for her and her family. At the same time, I couldn't imagine what I would do if the same thing happened to me, if I lost one of my children.

Like an evil imp on my shoulder, I again remembered what my friend had said.

Were my tears sincere grief for losing my nephew, or were they more for the selfish reason that I was afraid of having a similar experience?

Until now, I am still searching for the answer.

But whether one or the other, grief and compassion are what makes us -- and keeps us -- human, and embracing them is the road to healing; this, I know.

And there will always be at least one person who will cry when we die, no matter what we were in life, even if we were something less than attractive -- a thief, a criminal, a gangster, a murderer, a corrupter, a penny pincher, a snob, a fool, a bore.

As for my mathematical, cynical friend, he may not like it -- and I know he won't understand it, even from beyond the grave -- but yes, even for him, there is at least one who will grieve at his passing. -- Primastuti Handayani