Heavy Heart

I am extremely lucky. Today I realized that I have been very lucky not to have witnessed death until today. I have been lucky to have a body without illnesses or major flaws (except maybe acne). I have been lucky to not have suffered any injuries. I am lucky to be alive.

Today I witnessed the death of one of my fellow dodgeball players at  an open gym event. Without going too much into it, I was on the same team as my dodgeball friend and had just congratulated him for making a catch just five minutes before he collapsed. I was pretty dismissive at first; I did not know what had happened. He had one leg bent beneath him, so I thought it was a leg injury. But then he looked unconscious. Then someone said “he’s not breathing.” Then CPR was administered. Then the ambulance arrived. Then he was led out in a stretcher. Then later that night I found out he did not make it.

It is very hard to know how to react. I am not sure whether to be sad, angry, remorseful, distraught, miserable, contemplative, and mortified, all at the same time.

The man could not have been more than 30; I might have been earlier than him. He loved dodgeball; I loved dodgeball. He looked like a young, healthy guy; I look a young, healthy guy. He lived in LA; I live around LA. He could catch balls; I could catch balls. He was a fun-loving guy, I was a fun-loving guy. I love life. He loved life. That could have happened to me. That could have happened to anybody.

Why is it that death is so sudden? The man did not have any forewarning; He could not have woken up this morning thinking that it was his last day. He probably had plans to do something later that day; he still had many things to do in his life: a career, a marriage, children, perhaps? So many great experiences deprived, never to be done again. Did anyone want to tell him they loved him but just hadn’t gotten a chance to do so yet? Did he want to tell someone else that he loved them? Did he still have unfinished business that he wanted to get to? He had hopes, dreams, aspirations, plans. We all do. He won’t be able to fulfill them. It is very unfair. And the fact that I’m still here writing this is a testament to how unfair it is: Why do I get to be here and he not?

What would I want to be doing in my last moments of life? Dodgeball would be high on the list. Not to justify the man’s loss in any way, it was a terrible tragedy and he should have lived for tens of years more, but if he were to go, it’s probably good that he went out doing something he loved doing, as I do. Dodging, faking, throwing, having a good time at dodgeball….this will be the memory of the man I will remember. That’s how I’d want to be remembered.

Life is as fragile as a piece of glass. Don’t take life for granted. I’ve heard that before but this is a definite message that hits one right in the face. Life’s got to be cherished. So much is out of our hands; we can do all we can but it doesn’t change the fact we all have a time and there’s little we can do to change when that time comes. I must live my life.

My heart goes out to the friends and family of that man. I wish I could give more. There’s nothing else I can say.

Live on, 

Robert Yan