Tragedy Near and Far, No More, No Less
It was about 3:45pm when I first got wave of the 11/13/15 Paris attacks. I frowned down at the Facebook feed on my phone as I tried to absorb the disturbing news. But I couldn’t focus; the police cars had been on what was usually our sleepy suburban street and now the paramedics had arrived.
Over the next couple of hours, while millions around the world were glued to their computers or TVs in order to take in the Paris tragedy, I was processing the tragedy in my neighborhood. A young man in his 20s had died, alone, from a drug overdose. I didn’t know him well — had seen and (I hoped) smiled at him every now and then — but the people who did shared that he was a sweet guy who had struggled with depression and was trying to turn his life around.
Later that evening and over the course of the weekend I saw social media flare up with strong opinions questioning whether there was a Western bias for showing support for the Paris victims versus those in other countries. I didn’t know whether to sigh or roll my eyes. People were missing the point; the point that I was so gravely reminded of that fateful Friday, and that is, a life is a life, and the loss of that life is a tragedy, no matter how public or private the circumstances. It is how close we feel to the situation that directly impacts how significant we believe that loss to be, and ultimately, how we feel and express the associated grief.
Who is to say what is the greater tragedy — a life taken by radical fundamentalists or a life lost because a person felt lost? Which is more important, the war on terror or the war on drugs? What hits home more, hundreds of deaths in a global tragedy or one death in a local community?
The answers to these questions vary, depending on who you talk to. And that’s okay. Many of us are accustomed to drawing comparisons throughout our life that we inadvertently apply that same faulty logic to death. There are unspoken, yet often politicized beliefs about the more noble ways to die, the greatest travesties of our time and which causes and issues warrant the most attention from the media, from our friends and from ourselves.
The hard truth is there’s no right answer and nobody is right or wrong in who or how they grieve. Lives are lost every hour to a myriad of unfortunate circumstances and no one person can fight and change them all. There’s a time and a place for anger, expression and igniting change. But when a life is lost those of us left behind can only ask ourselves whether we are doing our part to spread positive energy in the world. Are we kind? Are we compassionate? Are we aware of those who are around us? Do we realize how precious and fragile life really is?
These are the questions that were going through my mind on the night of November 13, as I sat in my room, not looking at chaos of the media loop on the television set, but looking out the window at our quiet street. We had one less occupant that night, but the sky had one more star. And for that moment, that knowledge had to be enough, no more, no less.
