– Sunsets can get eerily crimson in Santiago.
Last Friday I went to a funeral. Someone, who had a key role in my upbringing, passed away at the age of 55, leaving behind two kids, a mother, and a husband. She had been fighting cancer for years, came out practically cancer free from chemo and surgery. But a few months ago after getting positive exams for some time, it came back and worse than ever.
Two weeks ago I visited her with my wife for breakfast. Years had passed and, despite her condition, she was as cheerful and faithful as ever. We reminisced about the past, both the good and the bad. We talked about her children and how smart they were. And of course she shared her experience with her disease.
Hours went by. I must have drank about 20 Yerba Mates that sitting. I cannot be more grateful for those hours I was able to spend with her.
Inevitability and faith
One of the key things that the minister transmitted during the funeral was that our earthly departure is inevitable. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. And in this moment of shared pain, we can all find solace in faith that one day we will all be reunited.
As a christian, I’m familiar with that line of thinking. And I do find solace in it. But on the other hand we can never know what happens after that last moment. Is there any experience, any qualia after life on earth? I think there’s no way we can find an answer to this type of question. They’ll be a mystery forever, and the only answer I can find to them for myself is through faith.
This isn’t the only answer of course. There are as many answers as religions on this planet. Some atheists may find solace in the fact that there’s nothing after life. No more suffering. People might find that terrifying, but I do understand that nothingness could be a soothing prospect in contrast to the suffering some people feel on earth.
This uncertainty and faith on what’s beyond life is a feeling that is hard to brush off for me when grieving.
“Evitability” and progress
Note: I don’t think “evitability” is a word in English. But if not, it should be.
But in grief, another thought keeps circling around me. Her passing could’ve been avoided. If only she would’ve had access to better healthcare. If only she could’ve been diagnosed earlier. If only the first doctor she went to, instead of just giving her some pills for the pain, would’ve taken her pain more seriously. There’s so many “if only”’s I could list, that I cannot shake this feeling off.
Medicine has progressed by leap and bounds in the last century, and I foresee this trend to continue. There’s even the proliferation of ideas such as the eradication of death or reverse-aging (search Bryan Johnson on Youtube). Then we also have tech leaders announcing the end of work as we know it and how AI is leading us to a new kind of near-infinite progress.
Note: Medicine is in huge debt to women. The kind of exams they have to go through, and the amount of times any kind of pain is dismissed because “they have more tolerance to pain” is inhumane.
There’s a new kind of faith that has been brewing for the past centuries: Faith in humanity, and ultimately in progress. That faith has been shattered by the new heights of horrors that technology has enabled (eg. atomic bombs). Also people are starting to resent the effects that AI is having both in the economy and in local communities through the proliferation of datacenters.
Where I’m standing
In my grieving I feel like my head is torn between contradicting ideas. I’m mourning the loss of someone I deeply esteemed. I’m grateful for having had her in my life and that last visit. I’m haunted by the thought of she must have felt in her last moments. I’m similarly haunted by the thought that her passing was “evitable”, and how as tech progresses death will be more and more “evitable”. And ultimately I ask myself where my faith stands in all of this confusion.
I choose my traditional faith. I say choose because I can only make it as a conscious effort. I choose the solace I can find in the thought that one day we’ll be reunited.
Last Friday there were at least a hundred people surrounding and giving company to the mourning family. There’s a community that will be with them, helping them go through these hard times. That’s something that progress and technology will never be able to replace.