What makes life worth living in the face of death?
Death has been one of my biggest fears in my entire life. It’s not because I don’t want to die but it’s because I am not sure when I will be ready to face death. But the fact is, it’s a destination we all share, and it comes after everyone.
One breezy evening, I was sitting with a close friend at school Polizio beach in Hamar Jabab, Mogadishu. We were enjoying the idyllic view of the beach and the beauty of falling and golden sunset, breezing the fresh air to clear our minds and sometimes the snapping waves crashing into rocks and taking stunning selfies. As usual, we were having an intriguing conversation on a variety of issue, but this time we found a crowd behind us, somewhere close to us. It was a body and a huge number of people surrounding a grave. We could feel the pain in our hearts. It’s painful when someone loses their loved ones. Immediately, our topic changed into mortality, life and death. We talked about death and shared stories. And you can imagine how death stories can never be entertaining; because there is nothing fun about it and it’s all about seriousness. My friend couldn’t tell me the entire powerful and poignant story of a dying neurosurgeon, Dr Paul Kalanithi, but she pulled out the When Breath Becomes Air from her bag asked me to read and reread. It’s a masterpiece. A book that shed my tears; a book seeks to answer to fundamental questions about life; from science to philosophy, from family to career and from life to death.
At age of 36, Dr Paul Kalanithi was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer at a time he was about to graduate from his residency in neurosurgery at Stanford University, at a time he was treating dying patients, at a time he was imagining beautiful life with his wife, Lucy. He was a gifted writer, doctor and scientist. He studied medicine. Although he is from medical family, but he never wished to become a doctor as his first choice. But instead, he earned two degrees from English literature and human biology at Stanford, and a master’s in history and philosophy of science at Cambridge.
It is incredible how he was able to write this book and posthumously published while he knows he was dying. I am immensely grateful that he did because words have longevity than our lives. The book is remarkable; I was reading, crying and walking with Dr Kalanithi with his journey from beginning to end. He writes in marvelously way of storytelling. Its moving and heartbreaking story; It reminded me of the story of Randy Pausch of the last lecture which I read some years back.
One of the ramarkble things I admire from the book is when Lucy and Dr Kalanithi decided to have a child knowing he is soon to die. “I knew a child would bring joy to the whole family, and I couldn’t bear to picture Lucy husbandless and childless after I died, but I was adamant that the decision ultimately be hers.” Although Dr Kalanithi was there for the delivery his daughter, but he was not able to spend time with her and give some memories of him. But he left her with a message
“When you come to one of the many moments in life where you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s day with a seated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that doesn’t hunger for more and more but rested, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is enormous thing.”
Unfortunately a few months later, March 2015, Dr Paul Kalanithi died to cancer at the age of 37 before he lived his life. What a loss of such genuine human! I read this book in a time of Covid-19 pandemic which is full of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear of death. In fact every life has value but every death has not similar pain!
When Breath Becomes Air is not a luxurious read, but it’s a well-written book that could be an emotional investment for everyone who reads it. If you’re interested in reading a powerful and moving memoir during this Covid-19 lockdown, you should pick this for your next read with a box of tissue.