Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality - Emily Dickinson

     To live in hearts we leave behind

                                    Is not to die. 

                                  - Thomas Campbell

     I knew that eventually I'd have to get around to writing a serious post. One that dealt with deeper topics than obsessions and possessions. And this post is going to be the one. 
     I had read about Steve Jobs before. I knew all about his claim to fame, his modest background, his personal struggles - or as much as Wikipedia would tell me. There are times late at night when I find myself scouring the internet for random pieces of knowledge and it happened to be one of them. Like millions of people out there, I'm a fan of Steve's and an admirer of his brilliance. There are many innovative and successful people, but you rarely find someone who embodies a kind, wholesome human being to complement their genius. Steve Jobs was one such person. 
     I heard that he was stepping down from his position as Apple. It made me sad. It was clear that this man loved what he did. How painful must it have been for an artist to walk away from his gallery? I figured that he had other plans in mind and that those plans were, at the moment, a lot more important to him. Life went on.
     Then, I heard the news of Steve's death. It shocked me. I knew he was sick, but the shock is inevitable. It's like having a dead apple tree in your yard and knowing that it will be cut down. You see that empty tree everyday and you're prepared to see it fall. Or so you think. Because then one day, that apple tree is cut down, leaving behind a stump. And it breaks your heart. There's a wide open space where that tree had once blossomed. You can now see the clear blue skies it once hid, but you're not sure you want to. There are no more delicious fruits that brought joy when they scattered the branches. There are no more delicate flowers that littered your lawn. And every time you look at that stump, you're reminded of the beauty that once lived there and was taken away. 
     But that stump, it's a reminder. And even though the tree is gone you have the memories. You know how you felt when you saw it, when you ate fresh apples on summer days, and when you basked in the compliments  about its' beauty. I suppose that's what it feels like when you know of someone's death, but it still shakes you. 

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal. – Irish Saying    

     They say that everyone in the world today is likely to know someone who has had cancer. If you are one of those who don't, appreciate your blessing. I can't imagine what it must be like for someone to know that their days are numbered. I can't fathom what it's like for their loved ones. My best friend is one of the strongest people I know. She's my support system, my anchor. But when her brother-in-law passed away from cancer, I saw her vulnerability. I felt like she was a raw image of herself, and it felt almost wrong to see her so broken.  

     I feel like we all live 90% of our lives being the person we want others to believe we are. We hide our insecurities, our fears, and our pasts because we all guard the deepest part of our souls. If someone sees you completely break down, that is it. There's no more depth to reveal; that person has seen your raw form. They have seen all the glamour, the personality, and the strength be stripped away from you. At that point, either they will love you regardless or they will be uncomfortable and leave. I feel like that's why we guard that part of us so well. It's the part of you that's true to you and there's nothing you can do to change it. The other 10% is when we let our emotions cleave their way into that part of our soul and we just..let..go. It's the hardest thing in the world; being vulnerable. But I don't think life can be lived without being that way at least once. 

     I am a private person, but I am not a closed book. I know the limits that I don't wish to cross, but I believe that life is worth sharing - in happiness and in heartbreak. Today I read the eulogy that Mona Simpson, Steve Jobs' sister, wrote for his memorial. I'm a sensitive person (I even cry at sad commercials) so I knew that it would touch me, but I can share with you that I've also been at her place. I can try explaining to you what it feels like to lose a brother, I could write novels, I could build a career on the subject. But nothing I do would ever do it justice. After losing my brother in an accident, I assumed that leaving suddenly is so much worse in comparison to knowing you're going to die. For one, there's no option for anyone to tell you goodbye. There are no arrangements, no promises, no last glances. One moment you're there - happy, alive - and the next you're a memory. You can't tell your little sister how she was your greatest friend or your little brothers to take care of each other. You can't hug your mom and tell her she made the best fried rice or tell your dad that you were proud to be his son. I held this assumption for years.
     But now, at 21, I really can't differentiate what type of death is worse. The truth is neither of them is better than the other. In her eulogy, Mona Simpson said, 

"We all - in the end - die in medias res. In the middle of a story. Of many stories."

I couldn't agree more.     
     Right now, one of my relatives is living what could be the last days of her life. She has children and grandchildren so her life has been a fulfilling one, but that doesn't mean she has no dreams. I don't know what gets her through the day, but it's the same thing that Steve Jobs saw when he laboured one more breath. Maybe it's knowing that you will be remembered at every moment you had wished to be alive for. Maybe it's knowing that even though there is no future for you, there is the possibility of a bright one for your loved ones. 
      Life would be nothing without loss; its' adversary. We will all experience it and there is no way to control it. So all we should ask for is courage.
The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next. – Mignon                                                                    McLaughlin 

     I hope that there will be a day when cancer becomes a thing of the past. As for me, my brother lives in every breath I take. He is alive as long as we remember him and no matter what anyone says, I will always answer "How many brothers do you have?" with "Three" instead of two. 

xo

You can read Mona's eulogy at http://www.nytimes.com/2011/10/30/opinion/mona-simpsons-eulogy-for-steve-jobs.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1