Hryts
on Life and Death
By Volodymyr Kish
I was at yet another funeral this week,
something that is becoming an all too regular occurrence for me at this stage
in my life. When one’s chronological age
reaches that area “north of fifty”, the increasing untimely demise of
relatives, friends and acquaintances cannot help but make one more aware of
one’s mortality and cause one to spend more time pondering the ultimate and
uncomfortable dialectic of life and death.
On the occasion of this
most recent funeral, as I was sitting through what seemed to be a rather long
Funeral Mass (no doubt due to the presence of no less than four priests!), my
memories turned to a conversation I had had with my cousin Hryts from Pidkamin
some years ago when I was still living in Ukraine.
We had been to the
funeral of a distant cousin earlier in the day, and were sitting on a bench
under an ancient walnut tree near his house, reminiscing about the dearly
departed. Eventually, stimulated no
doubt by the philosophical side effects of Hryts’ home-made horilka
(moonshine), we got around to discussing the broader aspects of life and death.
As was usual with any
dialogue with Hryts, he did most of the talking and I did most of the
listening. I should add that I did not
particularly mind that arrangement, since Hryts had long ago demonstrated
conclusively to me that my understanding of this world and the people in it was
painfully flawed, particularly when compared to his accumulated wisdom. He had pointed out to me shortly after we
first met, that Hryts was the diminutive form of Hryhoriy, his real name, and
that he had been named after
Needless to say, that
designation was not acknowledged by his wife Yevdokia, who made no bones about
what she thought of Hryts’ philosophical ramblings. “Go teach some of that philosophy to the
chickens” she would tell Hryts – “Maybe they will lay smarter and more tasty
eggs!”
Be that as it may, on
that particular day I was interested in seeking his views on the terminal
nature of our existence on this earth.
“Are you afraid of dying,
Hrytsiu?” I asked.
“Not really.” he
chuckled, “Actually, I am more afraid of living, particularly with what we have
to face these days in
“But aren’t you worried
or afraid of what you may have to face in the afterlife?” I continued.
“What is there to be
afraid of, my little turnip! If there is
no life after death, then your worries, pains and stresses are all over. On the
other hand, if you believe in life after death and in a loving and merciful
God, and if you have lived a good life where, as the teaching goes, you have
done unto others as you would have them do unto you, you should have nothing to
worry about.”
“But the priests and the
church are always reminding us what sinners we all are, and how we will be
judged for our failings in this life.
Don’t you think we will be held accountable for our sins?” I queried.
“Let me ask you this –”
he replied, “Have you ever gone and done something truly evil, deliberately
hurt someone badly, or sought to cause pain or misfortune on someone else?”
I thought about that for
a moment and answered – “Not that I can think of, at least nothing of
significance. I have not exactly been an
angel all my life, but I have never consciously done evil or harm of any consequence
to anybody that I can think of.”
“Well then, relax and
have another charka of this delightful homebrew. I somehow don’t think God will punish you too
harshly for eating meat on Friday, telling little white lies to your wife,
occasionally having one glass of wine too many or being a little creative on
your income tax! I am sure that God or
Allah or whatever name you choose, understands full well what is important and
what isn’t. He did not create us in our
imperfect state just so that he would have somebody to punish.”
We sat and talked a long
time that day under that walnut tree, and that night I slept particularly well.