What do they teach us about ourselves?
I didn’t think it would end this way.
End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path–one that we all must take. The gray rain-curtain of this world rolls back and all turns to silver glass. . . and then you see it. . .
What, Gandalf? See what?
White shores. And beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.
Well, that isn’t so bad.
No, no it isn’t.
Gandalf the White to Peregrin Took
In my estimation, I have thought about death, dying, and its impact on people more than the average human. Specifically, I am interested with an untimely death, a premature departure from Earth. For a long time, death has been a taboo subject, a reminder of humans’ vulnerability and relatively short existence. When confronted with the thought of death, most people turn away.
It is not by my own desire that I think about death. Rather, having been afflicted with a mental illness and the various mood swings, ideation, and intrusive thoughts that have been a part of my life for a long time tend to shape my ideas toward this topic. As a society, strides have been made in discussing death and its implications. Suicide, in particular, is not seen with as much stigma as it used to in years past. Language has been changed and adopted to be more compassionate with those who suffered from mental illness and who died by suicide.
I think one of the most important ways we as a society can discuss and deal with death is by confronting it head on and not through euphemisms and hushed voices. Talking about death is needed, and important, and, as Gandalf remarks, a path that we all must take.
However, there is another important, effective way to talk about this difficult topic, and that is through fiction. Whether that fiction is fantastical or historical, seen or read, heard or drawn, fiction is a way that humans can explore ideas and experiences that may not happen on a daily basis in their lives.
I think, at least in my experience, that death can be a difficult subject for two reasons. One, we are reminded of those who have gone on before us and memories can be too fresh or painful or traumatic for us to remember them. Second, it reminds us of our own fragility and vulnerability, something that most people probably don’t want to dwell on for long.
I would like to look at some specific depictions of untimely deaths in media we consume. Spoilers for the works will be here, so if you don’t like those, skip ahead or stop reading altogether.
What is it about (untimely) death that makes it hard to talk about?
No one likes talking about death. Confronting your demise is uncomfortable, and disturbing, and upsetting, but necessary. Confronting others’ deaths can be equally and often more awful, because you’re here and they aren’t. It can be overwhelming to think about, let alone have a dialogue with others on the subject. But, ultimately, it’s important to confront what happened, and I think having an understanding of that can be achieved through works of fiction. These works allow us to look at what we think about death and what an untimely death might teach us about how to live life more fully.
For example, one of my favorite books of all time is Freak the Mighty by Rodman Philbrick. It was adapted into an excellent movie with Sharon Stone, Harry Dean Stanton, James Gandolfini, and others. The story follows a boy, Max, whose father was incarcerated for the murder of his mother. He lives with his mother’s grandparents, Gram and Grim, and doesn’t have any friends or any belief in his ability to learn. Then, Kevin, known as Freak, moves in next door. Kevin has a degenerative disease that leaves him with a crippled and broken body but an incredibly bright mind. Max, whose stature is incredibly large for his age, ends up befriending Kevin, walking with him on his shoulders and the two become known as Freak the Mighty.
At the end of the story, Kevin dies in his sleep, and the scene in the movie that depicts it does a much better job than I could ever do.
I think the most heart-wrenching and beautiful part of this scene is Max running out of his house, screaming at the ambulance: “Stop! Stop you idiots! He was supposed to get a new body!”
This is a reference to earlier in the movie when, on their adventures, Kevin takes Max to a building that he says is a research facility that will, essentially, turn him into a bionic man with a new body. What Max didn’t know is that this building simply housed a commercial laundry business, and Kevin told him a lie. Max never questioned it because he knew Kevin was smarter than him. I think Kevin told Max because he wanted Max not to worry about him.
Kevin knew he would die. His mother also knew he would die. Max didn’t question whether or not Kevin would die because he didn’t question things for his entire life.
In the categories of untimely deaths, I would call this the known unknown. Almost everyone in Kevin’s life knows that he will not live a long life. They simply don’t know when his death will occur. Despite this, he still manages to live a prosperous and incredible life, making friends with an unlikely neighbor and saving those in distress like the knights of old that inspired Kevin.
What does this death teach us about ourselves?
For one, it tells us to not give into despair or fear. Kevin came out of the womb with severe birth defects, yet he did not let that keep him down. He knew he would never be an athlete or even be able to walk without assistance, so he put his energy into something he could use–his mind. Despite all of these factors and the overwhelming mountain of evidence, Kevin went forward, partly because that is all he had, but also because his mother taught him that. Even though Kevin’s father disappeared the moment he heard the words “birth defect,” Gwen stuck with Kevin and raised him and loved him, a noble profession of which there is no comparison.
Sure, we can approach death and disability with a stiff upper lip and not show despair, but I do not doubt for a moment that there were days where Kevin was upset and frustrated about his condition. But, instead of giving in to depression and despair, he chose to nurture the talents he did have and became a better person because of it. And, not only did he become better, but he improved those around him, most notably Max. Max learned about himself and that he was more than the son of Killer Kane, and that he did, in fact, despite the teasing rhyme, have a brain.
One of my favorite movies of all time is one that came out just last year. 1917 was released to critical acclaim and was a surprising hit not only for its story but for its technical achievement in being a war movie that appears as one continuous shot.
About a third of the way through the film, one of the main characters, Lance Corporal Blake, is killed by a downed German pilot. He was simply trying to aid the man who was badly burned from crashing from damage during a dogfight. Lance Corporal Schofield, the other main character, is getting water nearby for the German when he hears Blake exclaim “No! What are you doing! No!” and we then hear the sound of a blade tearing flesh. Notably, Blake’s mortal wound is not shown on-screen. We merely hear it, and as the camera pans with Schofield readying his rifle, the German holds a bloody knife in his hand, and Schofield shoots him with two shots from his rifle.
Desperately, Schofield attempts to drag the wounded and dying Blake to an aid station, but Blake is in too much pain, their gear too much collectively, and they both collapse in frustration and despair. While Blake lies there, he asks a very direct question: “Am I dying?”
Schofield takes a moment, gathers his composure, and simply says, “Yes. Yes, I think you are.”
Despite knowing that he is bleeding out, Blake, dedicated to his mission and to saving his brother, grabs the letter they are intended to deliver, and, before ensuring Schofield knows the way, asks a simple request. “Will you write my mother for me? Tell her I wasn’t scared. . .”
And then he dies.
I think that it is entirely too easy in this Internet- and data-dominated age to think of death as a number or statistic. We see it all the time: ___ percent of people who contracted COVID-19 died; there have been ____ deaths of American soldiers since the start of the invasion of Iraq; 50 million people died due to the influenza epidemic of 1918.
It is easy to disregard data and numbers. It is easy, even, to gloss over pages and pages of names. The Vietnam War Memorial in Washington, D.C. is a large, black granite wall inscribed with the names of those killed in action during that war. It is massive and impossibly large, and yet it is a monument to those soldiers, many of whom had just graduated high school, who died in service to a cause that was increasingly unpopular among citizens and soldiers alike. It is, in my experience, impossible to grasp its enormity.
We can look at infographs and charts and data reports all we want, but none of that will take into account the humanity of a person. It is easy to break data down into statistics; age ranges, marital status, gender, sexual orientation, race, socioeconomic status, and so forth, but none of these tell the story of who died: what did they do? how did they live? what were their defining traits? what did they laugh at? how did they treat others? were they kind? were they patient? quick to anger?
I think that untimely deaths bring to our remembrance that everyone who lives on this planet is a human being–untimely deaths are jarring, sometimes, because they remind us that there are other people who have the same dreams and hopes and desires as us, but their aspirations are not realized because they die before those dreams can become reality.
Kevin, in Freak the Mighty, is one of them. Lance Corporal Blake, in 1917, is another. But these are not real people. They are fictional characters and, while able to elicit empathy and emotion, ultimately, are not who we should be empathizing. We should learn from their stories and how they lived, in order to more fully empathize with the humans around us and give them the compassion they deserve.
No one grows up wanting to be poor. No one grows up wanting to think, “I wonder where I’m going to sleep tonight?” or “What am I going to eat tonight?” or “Will I be alive by the end of the week?”
No one wants to be homeless. No one wants to be afflicted with disease. And yet, I find myself judging others for these very things. I’ve become better at it as I’ve matured, but there are still times when I catch myself judging others for things often beyond their control.
Untimely death, then, teaches us to be compassionate, kind, and humble. Human life is precious, and fragile, and innumerable; therefore, we should treat all humans with kindness, and compassion, and humility.
Fiction and literature have great power to teach us about ourselves. While they can be nice entertainment, at the end of the day, art can teach us to do something different, to become better and be better consistently, and to lift up those around us.
Nate Livsey 