They said awareness of death is traceable to a biological change that occurs in our brains as we grow older, so that a man who was a daredevil when he was young will often become cautious when he gets older. Its like the younger men just don't get it, and the older ones suddenly do.
I don't know. I was always aware of death. By the time I could talk, I would cry to my mother about the people dying from famine and such. Death never bothered me in and of itself, but what humans to do each other and other beings is what bothers me. There is no purpose for all the suffering we cause.
Every dead thing I have passed on the road, since I was a little girl, brings tears and a sincere apology to the being, to the Earth, and to God for the suffering that humans cause through our technology.
The fact is, we are bound to make mistakes in something like a car because it moves so fast and is so lethal. We're commuting in what is easily a weapon. Our brains and bodies aren't fast enough sometimes to act on the information we perceive as we hurtle down the road. But short of going back to the days of walking, biking, horses, and oxen and never traveling farther than a few dozen miles from home, this is the choice that we, as a society, have made.
Still seems unjust for all the beings whose lives are snuffed out (humans included) due to our desire for quick transit. So I apologize. The same way I ask for forgiveness for my indirect participation in war (through my taxes, even though I am a pacifist), in exploitation (through buying things, even though I try hard to find reputable companies), and so forth. By virtue of living in the modern US, I am causing suffering to others. Lots of suffering. Sometimes it just kills me emotionally, because I've always been very sensitive to other beings' suffering.
I will say, I try despite my mistakes. It is possible to at least try to act compassionately toward these beings that we harm on the road. I've never hit one, myself (thank God), but I do know that no matter how careful you are, it can happen. My dad was heartbroken over hitting a deer once. It literally lept from the side of the road in the trees (where he couldn't see it) in front of his grill in one bound. It really shook him up. No matter how compassionate we are, it can happen. That said, I feel we should *always* go back and make sure the animal is dead (provided we can do this without causing further accidents, which we generally can), so that if it isn't, we can attempt to save it or at least put it out of its misery as quickly as possible. Where my dad lived, there were a lot of deer accidents, and people carried hunting knives to kill deer if they were mortally wounded but not dead. Compassion is not always easy or happy fluffy bunny stuff. Sometimes, taking responsibility is uncomfortable, scary, and gory.
Animals that are fatally wounded should be euthanized or, if this is impossible, at least have someone with them in their final moments. They should know they were worthy of respect and compassion. I would hope someone would stand by me as I was dying. And you never know what might happen under these circumstances. When I was a little girl, about ten, I rescued a cat who had been crushed by a car and left to die in the road... in the dark and the rain. We couldn't take him to the emergency vet as we were quite poor and our regular vet who often helped us save strays for free was closed since it was nighttime. One hip was completely crushed, he was barely breathing, eyes were shut and he was bleeding from both ears and his nose. We cried over him, pet his wet fur, put him in a box with towels and in front of the heater for warmth. We apologized for this injustice to his life, that he had been simply left to die without any love at all. And we loved him for all we were worth for the hours we had before bed.
The next morning, he was meowing for food, doing his best to drag himself around his box with his useless leg. After being cleaned up by the vet, he formed a false hip joing and knitted himself back together so that years later, you could hardly tell he was crushed at one point. He fully recovered and led a wonderful life for another 12 years or so until he died naturally of old age and bone cancer.
If no one had checked on him, what are the odds he would have survived that rainy night, in the middle of the road, while his body tried to patch itself up as it slept?
