I am praying for my fiancé to live—he is fighting for his life. At the same time, my father has had a heart attack, and I find myself praying that he dies. How strange this feels.
What is living, and what is dying?
My father is 87 years old. He has dementia. He has been a narcissist all my life, and because of that, his unconsciousness caused deep pain and abuse within our family and beyond. Over the years, I have come to terms with the hand I was dealt. I’ve done the work to heal, to forgive, to release blame.
Now I see an old man, alone in a dark, dirty, depressing apartment in Luton, UK. Over time, I’ve felt empathy for him—seeing his loneliness, how everyone has left him. I’ve often prayed that Krishna would take him from this world, to end his suffering. Compassion even takes on a new perspective.
I’ve questioned why he has lived so long in this state—struggling alone with illness, barely eating, not leaving the house. My sister visits, and he has some home help. There has been talk of a nursing home, but who has the money? And navigating the system feels almost impossible. He has become like a shadow of himself—zoning out in front of the TV, sleeping most of the day, eating very little, never going outside. Is he living? I wonder what is happening inside his mind. When I visit, he lives in the past, clinging to a memory of who he once was. Yet he does not seem able to let go of that identity, even though this is no longer truly a life.
So when I heard he had a heart attack, I prayed that he would leave peacefully—that he would finally be free. I don’t feel resentment. I feel compassion. I see a man moving through the consequences of his life, his karma, alone. I simply don’t want him to suffer anymore.
And then there is my fiancé.
A good man. A man of prayer, dignity, and love. Only 50 years of age. He has three incredible children. He is surrounded by friends, by community, by care. He has been diagnosed with a very aggressive cancer—though the doctors say it is curable. Still, he will be fighting for his life. He faces a month in the hospital, undergoing intense induction chemotherapy therapy. It will be a long journey—one plus years—a marathon toward remission. And I am ready to walk that path with him. We are fighting for his life—a life of service, love, and devotion to God. What does that mean, it seems to take on a different perspective and a new definition daily.
As my fiancé moves through this, something more than the cancer within him may die for him to really live—while shedding the cancer, I am sure he will also shed an old identity, a layer of self that must be surrendered. Who he will be on the other side, we cannot know. And who will I be—individually, and within our relationship?
It brings forward deeper questions: What truly has value in this life—and beyond it? Observing other patients potentially face life and death challenges. A beautiful, young girl next door seems to be fading away. So much of her life left to live but who know what destiny has in store for her?
All this brings to question the value of life. How much of our energy is being wasted, and how much is aligned with a greater purpose while we are here, living each moment? What does it really mean to live, even if life is spared? If you are given a second chance, what would you choose?
My father’s second chance may be in another body—I pray for his physical death. That he leaves this world, perhaps to begin again. Maybe the other side offers a new birth, a fresh start. Maybe the suffering lessens, if karma has been burned through.
Each day we wake is an opportunity to live. But what does that truly mean? Are we simply playing out roles and narratives because that is all we know—characters on a theater stage—breathing, feeling, and enacting what is placed before us? How can each moment become a quest for truth? Whether we are cleaning, shopping, or working a mundane job, are we living with integrity? Are we truly living? Or, while living, are we quietly dying—giving up as depression, reactivity, and hopelessness become familiar patterns?
We do have a choice, even as each person’s karma and destiny unfolds differently. The question remains: are we alive on the inside, or are we slowly fading away giving up hope? Who can truly understand what it means to live and to die? Right now, they feel intertwined.As though we must die in order to live.
And to truly live, something within us must die.
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