May 2019: Andrew's story

It has been over 7 years since Drey first shared with me an excerpt from Thich Nhat Hanh’s book ‘Breathe, You are Alive!!!’. It is a commentary of the Sutra on the Full Awareness of Breathing (Anapanasati Sutta) and reads as follows:

·         We all have the tendency to run away from suffering. But the fact is that without suffering, there is no way to cultivate understanding and compassion. I don't want to send my friends and children to a place without suffering, because a place without suffering is a place without understanding and compassion. Without understanding and compassion, there can be no happiness.

·         A lotus can never grow without mud. So just as the mud plays a very vital role in bringing out the lotus, suffering plays a vital role in bringing understanding and compassion. When we embrace our suffering and look deeply into it, we can learn a lot.

Over the past week, I have shed a lot of tears. Tears in memory of a person who wasn’t that close to me during his life; but who has made a big impact on me following his death.

Exactly a week ago, I got the email that said ‘Andrew has sadly passed away today’. My full emotional response to the news was not immediate but unfolded slowly over the following days. It was about 6 months ago, just before Christmas, when Andrew was first diagnosed with leukaemia. He had gone for a routine eye test at the local opticians, and within days, found himself admitted in hospital with 6 weeks of hospital isolation ahead of him following his first course of chemotherapy. He broke the news to me a few weeks later, when I returned from my pilgrimage to India and Nepal. 

Perhaps due to my own life experiences, I was adamant that I wanted to be a support to him through his journey; but only if he wanted me to be there. I didn’t know what the future held for him, but regardless of what was to unfold, I wanted him to feel supported, cared for and not alone.

When I first met Andrew 4 years ago, I could see a lot of parallels in our lives. He seemed like a decent man, rebuilding his life after the breakdown of a long term relationship and moving into the same residential area that I used to live in when I was going through the same life event. He was quite open and chatty to begin with, but as the years went by, he became more and more silent and aloof. Sometimes I would only get a grunt out of him, and often I would feel that I was a disruption to his already very busy day. He would rush in a few minutes late for our appointment, and then rush off as soon as I had left.

So it was quite a change when I contacted him in February 2019, and he was quite insistent about wanting to meet me. Our clashing schedules meant that the only way we could meet was at the break of dawn. I joked that I’d have to meet him at 5am, and he was up for it! Fortunately, I was working from home that day, and so we managed to leave it till 7am.

Andrew was self-conscious about having lost his hair due to the chemotherapy and warned me about it before I went round. So I made it a point to comment that he looked a lot younger without hair, so don’t worry about it.

I had checked the house and was about to leave, but I sensed that he wanted to chat, so I stayed for a bit longer. He told me about what had happened with his diagnosis and treatment. But more importantly, he wanted to impart the valuable advice to me to go on holidays, not work so hard and to enjoy my life. He described his diagnosis as a ‘car crash’. He was happily chugging along in life and then ‘Boom!’. His life was turned upside down. He recounted how difficult it was being stuck in the hospital room for 6 weeks. Although he wasn’t physically restricted from walking out of the door, he knew that doing so would put his health at risk due to the risk of infection. The whole environment was closely controlled – the temperature, the air, his diet, etc. 

I asked him if his diagnosis had changed his outlook in life, and he replied ‘Hell, yeah’. His appreciation for life and everything he had had significantly increased.

I was late for work that day, but I felt it was more important to spend that time with him and so I would deal with the consequences later. I remember him very carefully gazing at my hands as though he was trying to memorise what I looked like. Or perhaps he was just intrigued why I was holding a single chopstick in my hand – the chopstick I had used to test the smoke alarm on the ceiling as I wouldn’t be able to reach the button otherwise. I remember coming home and thinking, I wish I had given him a hug; as I recalled having lost the opportunity to give my grandmother a hug before she passed away 22 years ago. But of course, that may not have been deemed appropriate as my relationship with Andrew was officially a professional one.

My encounter with him that day inspired me to look into platelet and bone marrow donation. Alas, I didn’t meet the minimum criteria. But still, I felt very hopeful and positive that he was going to get over this. I sent him a get well card with a very heartfelt note conveying that message.

When I told my sister about Andrew’s condition, she thought that was dreadful. Poor Andrew. Funnily, I didn’t react in the same manner. Yes, of course I wouldn’t wish for Andrew to be unwell. But I was of the opinion that it’s brilliant that he’s turned that corner, is able to see life differently, to appreciate life and to realise what is really important. A day of living in the light and really cherishing life is worth more than a decade of living in the darkness, in oblivion.

Over the weeks that ensued, I made it a point to ring him every week. We only chatted for about half an hour each time, but I wanted to give him a distraction from all the medical procedures and a connection outside of his family circle. I was hoping that if there was anything he didn’t feel able to speak with his family about, that I would provide the outlet for that. He told me about his work and how he was so grateful to that for providing him with a means of keeping his mind active. He told me about the horrible side effects of the chemo drugs. We spoke about what he would like to do when he was discharged. He told me about his brothers and how one of them had been found to be a match as a bone marrow donor. On Wednesday the 27^th of March 2019, I rung, and then texted him, but didn’t get a response. So I took it as a sign that he wanted some privacy, and stopped my weekly calls.

I thought about sending him a card, or a text before his 51^st birthday in May, but decided against it. I knew he had been expecting to be in hospital for his next course of treatment during that time. My plan was to contact him towards the end of May anyway, to arrange for the house gas safety certificate renewal. I sent him an email about it, but this time, it was his colleague AJ who replied. She advised me to ring Andrew’s partner, A. When AJ discouraged me from contacting Andrew on his mobile, I knew things were serious. It was the first time I had heard of his partner A, but I duly rung and texted her. The next day, I got a call from PR, Andrew’s brother, to say that his condition was terminal. The doctors would not say how much time he had left. As it turned out, he passed away the next day, Saturday 25 May 2019.

Andrew’s death has stopped me on my tracks. Forced me to question my own life. Revisit my values and opinions about what is important in life. 

View of Iona from the ferry

Andrew had always been keen on being present when any tradesmen were due to call round, understandably so; but when it really came to the crunch, whilst he was ill in hospital, none of that mattered anymore and hence PR told me to go ahead with the appointment in his absence.

As I hurried along with the crowd into the ferry from Oban to the Isle of Mull and Iona the next day, it struck me how pointless, meaningless and unsubstantiated everything is. Money, status, the badges of holiday destinations one has visited, the numerous holiday photos we’re obsessed about taking – what’s the point of it all when the reality is that none of it really matters when we’re on our death bed. 

So if all that is not important, what is important? To love, to care and to be kind. To be kind to everyone with whom we cross paths with because this is our only opportunity to show them love. To be present and truly listen when someone speaks to us. To be aware and grateful for every moment we have and not wither it away on frivolous activities. To get the most benefit out of our lives. To make the most of the time we have. And not to give cause for regret over hurtful things we have said or done. I felt that very strongly. Be nice. Be kind. I still find my mind drifting off as a friend drones on and on about a topic I am not interested in, but then I would remind myself – listen, really listen to what she/he has to say. Let them know that they matter.

Andrew's photo of Tan Hill Inn in 2015

On my way back from Oban, I made it a point to detour to the North Yorkshire Dales. Many years ago, Andrew and I had spoken about the Tan Hill Inn. I have always wanted to visit it, but had never made the journey there. Andrew had sent me a photo of Tan Hill Inn on one of his day trips out on his motorcycle. Despite the pouring rain and fading daylight, I was adamant to make my way there and raise a glass in his memory.

Andrew hadn’t written a will, and so his brother has to apply for a probate. The process can be long and drawn out over many months. It has impressed upon me how important it is to get my own affairs in order so as not to leave a trail of paperwork for my next of kin. Get a will in place. Declutter. Live simply. All things I already know, but never got round to.

When I spoke with SM at work about a work colleague, PB, who had passed away of a heart attack just a
week before Andrew, she commented about how unfair life is. PB had just been made redundant at work, was turning his life around by making various lifestyle changes for a healthier life and then without warning, his life ended. Once again, I viewed things differently. I responded ‘Well, I like to think that they are in a better place now’. To which SM joked ‘Yea, maybe they don’t have to put up with this horrible weather because they are above it’. I thought, maybe it is not unfair (to them). Perhaps the prospects in the afterlife are a lot better than life on earth as we know it? Perhaps PB and Andrew are looking upon us from wherever they are now and thinking ‘Awww, life is so unfair. They are stuck there whilst we are enjoying our lives here! They don’t know what they are missing out on’. 

Naturally, I have been speaking to everyone around me about Andrew’s story. In a bid to ensure that his life was not in vain, I’d like others to benefit from his experience and for me to take on board the advice he had imparted to me. I am grateful for his well intentions in wanting me to make the most of my life and not to have the same regrets he had. I am grateful for having been a part of his life, no matter how small and to have had the opportunity to have met such an honourable man. A few years ago, I had noticed that he had missed paying the rent one December. I waited for a few days, but still it didn’t arrive. All sorts of thoughts crossed my mind. Did he lose his job? Is he in financial difficulty? After some disturbed nights, I decided that I had no choice but to question him about it but will bend over backwards to help him if he was in trouble. We can come up with a payment plan or something if he was having financial difficulties. When I spoke with him about the missed payment, he was dismayed. Something must have gone awry at the bank. Within 2 hours, Andrew had gone to the bank and ensured that the money was banked in. 

View from Tan Hill Inn

In my email and phone encounters with PR over the past week, I realised that the moral values and integrity Andrew possessed was not unique to him. Both brothers are equally honourable and it is of great credit to their parents. Whilst it may not be a consolation to them having lost a son, there’s a lot to be said for the fine men they have raised.

Despite my undefinable relationship with Andrew – was it a professional relationship or one bordering on friendship? – I’m thankful for everything he and his life have taught me. We shared a common principle in life to live with integrity, good moral values and one based on well intentions. Whilst our brief exchange in life on earth has come to an end, I hope that he has moved on to a better place and maybe someday our paths will cross again.

Thailand + India/Nepal Pilgrimage January 2019 Dhamma Reflections

When I get back to the UK, understandably everyone will be asking me - how was my trip to India, Nepaland Thailand? I'm uncertain of how to express my exact thoughts and emotions at this moment in time. There have been a few key events during the trip that has taught me a lot and given me a deeper insight into life.

 It was our third day in Bodhgaya, India when the first incident unfolded. There were 4 of us holding on for our dear life in a rickshaw as it whizzed through the streets, heading for the Maha Bodhi Temple. My line of vision was against the flow of traffic, as I took in the sights and sounds of chaotic Bodhgaya. It was a surreal moment as I watched a local Indian lady being hurled out of the rickshaw and landing with a thud in the middle of the busy road. She looked like a rag doll being thrown out of her seat. My heart skipped a beat as she lay lifeless on the ground. “Oh dear God!” I exclaimed. There was a deep sense of relief when she slowly got up with the help of her fellow companions as she held her head in her hands, presumably in pain. If there is to be a lesson on the fragility of life, this was it. She could have easily been fatally injured and not have survived the fall. None of us have any inkling of what's to happen to us in the next second, minutes, hours, days or weeks ahead. And yet, we live life as though we are invincible.

I remember once reading a comment made by a man who had spent some time observing autopsies carried out by the police. How peculiar it is that the teenage boy had no inkling that morning as he put on his pair of sneakers or that T-Shirt that it was going to be the last time he dressed himself. He had no idea that he was not to see through the end of the day.

As we travelled through Uttar Pradesh and Bihar on the tour bus, poverty was clearly to be seen all around us. I watched as mothers held the hands of their young daughters as they made their way through the streets. ‘That could be me’, I thought to myself. Perhaps that could have been me in a past life, or if I’m not careful, that could be me in a future life? Why have they got the lives they have; and me, the blessed life I have? Why is it that I was fortunate enough to be born in a respectable family, with parents who instilled in me good moral values and gave me numerous opportunities to seek a better life? At nearly every stop we made, there were hordes of children waiting and hopeful for handouts. Begging and pleading us for money. Day after day, we came face to face with the poverty, the filthy environment and smelly toilets. A tremendous sense of gratitude arose in me as I thought of my life in the UK and the opportunities I had been given.

I have a body that I call mine. I spend a great deal of time and money nurturing it - cleaning it, feeding it and taking care of it. I'm very careful to keep it healthy and free from injuries or harm. The next significant lesson I was about to receive took place back in Thailand.

Sunday 20th January 2019 - it was our third day back from India. I had set my alarm clock and got ready for pindapat (1) early that morning. My first pindapat during this Thailand trip. We made our way out of the monastery main entrance and turned right. We walked in silence in single file towards Phuwiang as Tan Bernard led the group of monks followed by Jeremy and me. We stood by the road patiently as we waited for one of the residents from the house we had walked pass to get her dana (2) offerings together. There were the usual exchange of pleasantries and before long we were on our way.

Just as we set off, two dogs came charging out of the neighbouring house and started barking aggressively at our feet. The thought arose in my mind, “Right, what should I do? Walk calmly and quietly away? Or do something else?”. Having discussed this with Mick the night before when he recalled a recent incident when he had walked calmly away unscathed, I decided to do the same. As I took my second step away from the dogs, I felt the dog's canines digging into my right calf. A male voice shouted out. Too late. My trousers were not torn but I could feel and see the sticky stains of blood. “I've been bitten by the dog”, I whispered to Jeremy as he protectively took the last position in the queue to widen the gap between me and the now retreating dogs. “Are you ok?”, he asked. “I'm ok, just in shock, I think”, I replied as I felt the blood slightly drain from my head.

As we continued with the pindapat, I could feel my calf muscles tightening and getting slightly sore. I'll probably be fine, I thought to myself. But if I do catch rabies and die in a few weeks, then so be it. Life will unfold as it's meant to be and I'll accept whatever it has in store for me. It was rather handy that preparations were underway at Wat Pah Kanjanabhisek for Phra Ajahn Maha Rung Reung's funeral. “If I were to die, you can just cremate me with Ajahn (3) Rung”, I joked with Peter. “I'm sure that will be very auspicious”, he quipped in reply.

During my retreat with Ajahn Amaro at Amaravati Monastery a few months ago, I had an insight into how my body is a part of nature. I have limited control over it. Just like how the parasites and tumour like growths attach to the trees in the forest, so too is my body subject to the forces of nature. My body is subject to tumours, cysts and infections of all sorts - it happens on its own accord as a normal process of nature and life. This body doesn't really belong to me. It belongs to nature. The dog bite was a reminder to me of that teaching. To wild predators (and possibly some doggy pets), my body is just a big piece of walking meat and bones. I too am part of the food chain.

The lesson that I found most profound came just 2 days later. The big crowd that attended Phra Ajahn Maha Rung Reung's funeral had left. It was the morning after the funeral. Most of the clearing, packing and dismantling of the marquees had been completed. A small crowd of monks and remaining visitors, including the ‘farangs’ (4), gathered around the ‘oven’ as it was dismantled to reveal the remnants of Ajahn Rung's cremation. We stood around in anticipation, trying to catch the first glimpse of the ashes as each panel of the oven was unscrewed and lifted. Before long, all the walls had been removed. It struck me how little was left of Ajahn Rung's cremation remains. The only clear visible signs to indicate that there had ever been a human body in there were a few fragmented pieces of skull, pelvic bone, vertebral column and the femur head.

I tried to bring to mind the frail body of Ajahn Rung from when we had met him just 2 weeks ago, prior to leaving for India. How he had bravely struggled with his breath and endured the obvious discomfort and pain of his physical body. He was only 47 years old. This is all that remains of his physical body. A pile of ashes that if carried by the wind or strewn on the ground, would return to the earth, stripped of any indication of the person or human body it once was. For someone with a deep-seated fear of death, ghost, cemeteries and dead bodies, it was a stark realisation of how unsubstantiated my fear of death is. The cremation process merely hastens the process of deconstruction/decomposition of the human form to its main elements of earth, fire, water and air. The human form is just a temporary structure, the temporary coming together of the elements. It is like a hologram - with no solidity, stability, permanence or ’thing-ness’.

What have I been afraid of all this while? I'm not saying that I've been ’cured’ of my fear of ghost and dead bodies, but I dare say that a huge chip of it has fallen away. When I left the UK just 3 weeks ago, I was full of anticipation and hope for powerful experiences in India - the land of the birth, life and death of the Buddha. A hope that it would totally shift my outlook of life and greatly increase my faith and inspire my practice. I had hit rock bottom and needed something to change my perspective of life. Unfortunately, I can't say that India has filled me with the inspiration I had hoped for. I didn't feel the supernatural energies of those holy sites. However, I do feel that as I'm making my way back to the UK, having said goodbye to fellow Sangha (5) members from the pilgrimage, that I take home with me some profound lessons and experiences that has a humble outlook but deep impact in my life. The three characteristics of existence – dukkha (6), anicca (7) and anatta (8) – were so obvious throughout the pilgrimage.

The night sky is not lit up in magnificent colours and the smokey scent of fireworks, but instead, the sparkle of the twinkling stars is clearly visible each night as the sun sets. Always reliably present, always there - as is the Dhamma (9).

(1) alms round
(2) giving of alms
(3) Thai word for teacher
(4) Thai word for Westerners
(5) Community
(6) Suffering
(7) Impermanence
(8) Non-self
(9) Law of nature or teachings of the Buddha