The death of innocence
A wise person I know once said that you don’t really become an adult until your parents are gone. That person was in her forties when she lost her mom. She had a career, a life partner, kids of her own… you could say she was an accomplished woman, fully grown-up. And yet, it’s only then, when her mother left this world, that she felt it. This invisible weight that suddenly came pressing on her shoulders : there is no back-up anymore. No one to call for advice, for parenting comfort. No one who could allow her to feel like a little girl when she felt anxious or down. She was on the front line now. It was a double mourning, she said: one visible, one invisible. The death of her mother, and the death of her innocence.
The death of innocence. This is, by far, the most tragic of the two. Sure, losing a parent is always very sad. But at some point in their (and your) existence, their passing is expected. On the other hand, the disappearance of your own innocence is not something you are prepared for — because nobody warns you about it.
I didn’t have to mourn any of my parents to lose my innocence. For me, this unfortunate event came as a direct consequence of what I used to do for a living — which was, mainly, creating newsletters about economics and finance. The more I learnt and researched about the soulless world of investing and trading, the more I realized how cold and cynical this world could be. And slowly but surely, without even me realizing it, my innocence died right there on my workspace. Killed in a cubicle, somewhere between the computer screen and the trash can below.
It took me a while to become aware of that feat. It was, funnily enough, my mother who noticed it first. Since I live abroad, we get to see each other only once a year, and every time we meet again, she has the same ritual: a two-Mississippi-long hug, followed by a quick yet thorough visual inspection of my persona, and a brief comment: “you look good”, “you have lost weight”, or “you hair is getting grayer”… But this time, her comment was: “you look so serious… you have lost your smile, it seems”. She was right indeed: my smile was gone. For me, it had been gradual, so I did not realize it. But for her, over a year had gone by since the last time she saw me in person. And according to her, the difference was striking. There it was: my innocence had dried out and died. Bummer.
As I realized the demise of this invaluable quality, I felt even less like smiling. And yet, I made the quick decision not to mourn my lost innocence. I knew I would not get it back. Never ever — unless I could turn the clock back and, in a pure Benjamin Button style, return into childhood where innocence resides.
But I also knew that I was taking one step further into adulthood. And instead of mourning, I decided to emulate the Gypsies, who celebrate death by dancing and singing on the deceased’s graves. Because passing away does not have to be necessarily sad and terrible — at least for those who are leaving this world.
Not that I believe in life after death, no. But I watched as my great-uncle spent years and years in a hospice for the elderly, slowly decaying from a functioning old man with a great sense of humor into a diminished being in a vegetative state. He would often say he was bored to death but Death wouldn’t take him out of boredom. He would often go to sleep, hoping he would not wake up the following day. And it’s only once his indefectible sense of humor was gone, beaten up by years of waiting for the end, that Death finally took him — as if waiting for my great-uncle last remaining quality to fade away.
You could argue that Death comes to us at three different stages: first with the loss of our innocence, then with the passing of our capacity to marvel at the world, and finally, with our mental and physical demise. And yet, in our modern world, only the latter seems to count. I, on the other hand, am a firm believer that innocence is the only form or true freedom and that it should, therefore, be cherished and nurtured more than anything else. Which is why the death of innocence is, perhaps, the most important of all.
