Truth be told, I can’t speak on death or dying as if it’s something I have a right to post about. Someone’s parent or child or sibling. Loss and grief and weeping and wailing. Is it a subject that should be romanticized for the sake of producing something socialmedia micro-readers can consume? Should someone else’s tragedy be a reason to bring relevance to one’s own story; relegated to some sort of self-centered epiphany on life’s purpose or meaning. I guess it’s a yes to all those things because life is story and stories end…and those endings bring new beginnings or impact other people’s timelines creating an innumerable mess of narratives.
I’m just having a challenging few weeks and writing helps me cope or doze off at the bewitching hour, Philippines time. Eleven patients today. Using up all the fuel in the ambulance’s tank. Running completely out of oxygen for those in distress. Rolling out of bed before sun up to do swab tests, provide those green 02 tanks, transport patients, do home visits, resupply, and even meetings. And in all that bustle of life there is death. I have to literally stare it in the face to see if it’s true, to know whether I need to do CPR, attach pads, or call for further medical direction. Or to help find a funeral parlor or to transport or to reposition or provide cover to bring one final attempt at dignity. Then there’s the prayers. Wearing full PPE while interceding to the Almighty for our patients and family members is never easy, but it is powerful.
I hate Covid. I hate illness. I hate disease. I hate violence. I hate death.
Of course I see death and dying more than most because that’s literally the only reason why someone would call for our rescue crew. But repetition doesn’t make encountering it any easier. Someone once asked why we do what we do as a ministry, as volunteers, as community servants, as missionaries. I don’t have a good reason except that I know folks need people in the most hopeless moments of life. It’s in our name right? Hope Rescue. And it’s not an easy task that someone can do over and over again for friends, family, acquaintances, and strangers. But the team I belong to has somehow been gifted with the ability to do just that. Be there during horrible situations. I think that’s what it means to be like Jesus. Maybe I’m wrong. And we can go home, tired and emotional and fed up with tragic endings. But tomorrow is another day, a new day. And I get up, not bemoaning the terrible events that seem to be waiting around the corner, but instead rejoicing at another crack at life in all its messiness, for me or for another we get to help.
Sure, this post doesn’t make sense. But writing it makes me feel light enough to rest me eyes until my alarm gets me up in time to hear the kids play before school. Keep us prayed up my friends!
