How would you deal with grief and injustice?

Life is not always fair. Ferguson is not in my alley, nor the vents there have played out in media here. However, the unfairness of life is not new to me.

Life chugs along at a comfortable pace. The same things every day. Day after day. Wake up, go to work, come back, go to sleep. One could go through life with closed eyes. And many do. 

Then, one day- the sun refuses to rise. The clouds are dark and you know it is a different day. One such day played out a few days ago.

She was smiling. And she could barely walk straight. The grey in her hair far outnumbered the dark. The smile, however, was still that of a child. Starting at the eyes, twinkling and rippling down to the lips in a gentle wave. She often came to the out patient consultation and told the same story. She always got the same treatment- a smile in return and a reassurance all was well in the world. This time, just as she was getting up from the patient chair- she mentioned, just in a matter of keeping the conversation alive, "I must get my husband to you. He has been having this pain in the ear and he just does not listen when I tell him." 

This was unusual. I asked her where she lived and if her husband could come the same day. "No! Today, he is looking after the children- baby sitting, you know!" The smile was amplified. Her eyes drifted to look at something in the air. She continued," Both, my son and daughter-in-law had to go somewhere today. So the grandchildren are having a great time with him." 

This would not have mattered- but about a week later, she came again. This once, the smile was missing. The husband, too was missing. I love this lady. I had to ask her what was wrong. "My son has dengue. My husband is in the hospital, looking after Ajay (Name changed). But his pain is worse. Next time I will drag him here if I have to." 

Three days later- the son, and the couple came in for the long awaited consult. As he opened his mouth... the diagnosis hit me in the gut and knocked me out. It was a cancer- sitting florid and angry in the right tonsil- eating away part of the tongue and ulcers so huge and angry that it was a surprise they had not come earlier. The son was doting on the father. The father was doting on the son. The lady was smiling her usual child like smile. It was a rare family in today's age that was still bonded and whence the bods were visibly holding them all together and high above the mundane world.

I had no words to deliver the verdict. I did not have the heart to be direct. After so many years of being a doctor and care provider, something should or could have hardened me to this possibility. It is not altogether rare in my line of work. But- no. My shoulders sagged visibly. I had to pull myself upright again. And request the gentlemen to wait outside as i talked to the son. 

This boy, who was recovering from Dengue, lost in succession, his smile, his confidence and his composure. Life is a bitch. It is so unfair. Why this family? Why? Never had this man laid hand to alcohol, nor smoked. He was god fearing and prayed with his family each day. His wife obviously still loved him after  so many years of being married. His son loved him, too. They were one. And suddenly the landscape of their life was beginning to lose allots leaves- and stand bare, reaching out to touch and be touched. In pain. And in abject supplication.

He cried. Took his time to run dry. He could not afford to let his father see. This was already too far advanced to do much about. I referred them for palliative radiotherapy and prayed. For the next few days, the sun did not shine. And the rain did not come. The air was heavy and thick. And it was an effort to not think about this wonderful family being treated unfairly by Fate. Left to walk alone. The long road that would not end.

When Ajay came back a week later, his head was shaven, and his eyes had lost that shine. They still glistened, but there was no mirth now. These eyes had seen pain, and agony, and death. 

The father was no more.

They did not want to believe that all this had happened within the span of a month. They could not accept that someone as pious as him could have suffered so at the end of a life- though a life well lived.

How would you deal with the injustice of this life? 

It set me thinking...

If I were to die today- would anyone be touched as I was by this great man's demise? This man who had not been very well known, but was great in the true oxymoronic opposite to the anonymity he lived in. If I were to die today, would anyone miss me? Would anyone feel that life had been unjust? And unfair? Would I be missed? Would my obituary read that I lived my DASH well?

And I quote.

HOW WILL YOU USE YOUR DASH?

I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning... to the end.

He noted that first came her date of birth
And spoke the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the "dash" between those years. (1934-1998)

For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth...
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little dash is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own;
The cars... the house... the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard...
Are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left,
That can... still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger,
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect,
And more often wear a smile..
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.

So, when your eulogy's being read
With your life's actions to rehash...
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?

Author Unknown