Luminaries, part I: The River of Life

I sat in the twilight watching as they made their way down the path to the river. There must have been two hundred of them—some alone, some with family members, each carrying a glowing lantern. These ‘luminaries’ had been decorated in remembrance of a departed loved one, some recently gone, some who had passed years ago. Other people without lanterns had grown silent, recognizing the emotional and sacred nature of the moment. These empathetic observers lined the river’s banks from the bridge overlooking the release point to the downstream turn in the river where the luminaries would float out to sea.

A prayer was spoken to acknowledge each departed person, who had once lighted the heart of a loved one or a friend. That life was now being remembered in the glow of a symbolically painted lantern which would soon be placed into the stream.

When I had arrived earlier at the hospice ‘Celebration of Life,’ I looked over the information tables, spoke with some friends, listened to music and enjoyed the communal atmosphere. I glanced at a table with what looked like some kids’ home-made lamps. Then I saw her. On one of the lanterns I saw a picture of Joyce, one of my former hospice patients. All of a sudden, tears welled up in my eyes. She would be floating down the river tonight.

Now the moment had arrived. The first luminary was released, then another and another. In a few minutes the river was full of lights moving slowly down the River of Life, igniting memories of good and hard times, of youth, of old age, of last words and special embraces, of legacies and lessons learned. Then came the tears. In the darkness, tears flow more easily. Each person along the banks of that river remembered someone. Each person was alone in their sadness, but united in a common fate of love and loss.

Now I looked out into the darkness straining intensely to see Joyce’s luminary. Did I see it there? Was she really heading out to sea? Out of the blue, a dream from the night before flashed in my mind. The main visitor in that dream was my Dad, who died ten years ago. Perhaps his luminary was out in the water too! Then other memories flooded in—of departed loved ones and friends, of hospice patients who had become new friends before swiftly leaving our friendship and the world. Suddenly, my night vision came on and I saw everyone on that river bank crying desperately, inconsolable at loss after loss after loss. The River of Life had become a River of Death.

There were tears for loved ones and friends, and friends of friends; for fathers and mothers, grandparents and children, for unknown families lost in the Myanmar cyclone and the China earthquake. The River swelled with the tears of hundreds, thousands, billions of crying human beings. The whole world was crying, but the River never came onshore. It flowed on without noticing, carrying the luminaries slowly out to sea.