Fortunately, It’s a Palliative World
Seems we’re constantly mourning losses. Oh! We’re not the first. The world’s been this way since life-forms could sense loss. From elephants to dogs even animals appear to mourn, and if they do so, they probably are part of a long evolutionary trait. No, we don’t know exactly why animals act the way they do after a loss, but their behaviors certainly lend themselves to anthropic interpretations and projections of human sorrow.
I once saw a small bird get hit by a car. Injured to the point of dying, it lay on the road and moved a wing in an attempt to fly. In moments another bird landed beside it, appeared to encourage it to get up, and then flew off as the next car approached. Traffic cleared, the bird returned, still seeming, as my human interpretation runs, perplexed at why the other bird wouldn’t rise. Moving rapidly beside it and flapping its wings, the healthy bird appeared to show the fallen bird how to fly. “Just move your wings like this.” Another car, another fly-off. Car gone, the bird returned again. But the injured bird showed no response. One more attempt to get the bird to rise, one more frantic dance. Then off. But to where? To some bough to mourn? Was all that behavior really humanlike? Was it an attempt to comfort? Was it just my wish that it was?
Losses to disease, accident, and murder elicit mourning. And in each of those incidents we are as bewildered and as helpless as a bird that tries to get a fallen mate to rise.
With regard to our finiteness, complete remission is not a probability. It’s not even a possibility. The losses that trouble us now troubled our ancestors and will trouble our descendants. This seems, of course, to be a pessimistic view: No cures for finiteness. But by being at the side of those who suffer, we can serve a palliative purpose. Our very presence is a cloak that covers the pain, if not for the one lost, then for the one left behind.
Like the healthy bird on the road, those who comfort offer relief. “I am with you. Though bewildered and saddened by my ineffectiveness, I want you to know that I am with you. Let my presence be the cloak that covers your pain. Know that someone cares. You are not alone on the road of life and the path to death. Let me ease your pain.”
Seems we’re constantly mourning losses. Oh! We’re not the first. The world’s been this way since life-forms could sense loss. From elephants to dogs even animals appear to mourn, and if they do so, they probably are part of a long evolutionary trait. No, we don’t know exactly why animals act the way they do after a loss, but their behaviors certainly lend themselves to anthropic interpretations and projections of human sorrow.
I once saw a small bird get hit by a car. Injured to the point of dying, it lay on the road and moved a wing in an attempt to fly. In moments another bird landed beside it, appeared to encourage it to get up, and then flew off as the next car approached. Traffic cleared, the bird returned, still seeming, as my human interpretation runs, perplexed at why the other bird wouldn’t rise. Moving rapidly beside it and flapping its wings, the healthy bird appeared to show the fallen bird how to fly. “Just move your wings like this.” Another car, another fly-off. Car gone, the bird returned again. But the injured bird showed no response. One more attempt to get the bird to rise, one more frantic dance. Then off. But to where? To some bough to mourn? Was all that behavior really humanlike? Was it an attempt to comfort? Was it just my wish that it was?
Losses to disease, accident, and murder elicit mourning. And in each of those incidents we are as bewildered and as helpless as a bird that tries to get a fallen mate to rise.
With regard to our finiteness, complete remission is not a probability. It’s not even a possibility. The losses that trouble us now troubled our ancestors and will trouble our descendants. This seems, of course, to be a pessimistic view: No cures for finiteness. But by being at the side of those who suffer, we can serve a palliative purpose. Our very presence is a cloak that covers the pain, if not for the one lost, then for the one left behind.
Like the healthy bird on the road, those who comfort offer relief. “I am with you. Though bewildered and saddened by my ineffectiveness, I want you to know that I am with you. Let my presence be the cloak that covers your pain. Know that someone cares. You are not alone on the road of life and the path to death. Let me ease your pain.”
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