The Sacrifice

By Matthew Schmidt

When I was seven years old, I watched my grandfather kill himself. It was not the first time I had  witnessed a suicide, and it did not startle me, for they occur frequently in my region. My Grandmother  herself had already taken her life before I was born. The wives always seemed to go before the husbands. 

I was not the only one present when my grandfather breathed his last. The whole village had  gathered to watch as the weight of his body tightened the noose hanging from the gallows. But my  grandfather was no criminal. My Grandfather had lived as a hardworking and loyal man to both his king  and his family. A book could be filled with his honourable and selfless deeds, and his suicide was the final  one to top them all. 

When age turns us frail, we lose our function in the community, consuming resources while  producing no capital in return. So, when a man or woman is of little use to the community, they willingly  and honourably sacrifice themselves for their community’s well-being. My parents will join my  grandparents someday. 

Some day, I will join them. But until then, I will live, learn and work, until my body can no longer. 

When I was thirty-five years old, I watched my mother kill herself. She could no longer bear  children, and younger girls were better suited for her chores. I brought my family to the city centre where,  like my grandfather, she closed her eyes and dropped. The townsfolk raised the tips of their fingers to  their foreheads in a silent salute to her sacrifice. Her sacrifice will benefit the community until we all  reunite in the afterlife. 

Some day, I will join them. But until then, I will live, learn and work, until my body can no longer. 

My father took his place on the gallows just a few years later. Again, the crowds gathered as he  laid down his life for his community. My siblings and I were now the highest living branches on the  family tree. 

The next on the chopping block. 

Some day, I will join them. But until then, I will live, learn and work, until my body can no longer. 

I miss my parents sometimes. And my grandfather, though it has been years since his passing.  They were all gentle souls who lived and died for their families. For the sake of the community. I think of  the sacrifice I will make for my children and my grandchildren. I will miss them, but I am eager to reunite  with my parents and grandparents. To meet the grandmother, I never knew and thank her for the life I was  able to live because of her sacrifice. Because of all their sacrifices. 

Some day, I will join them. But until then, I will live, learn and work, until my body can no longer. 

My wife was the next to go. Her loss hurt the most; I had devoted my life to loving her, caring for  her, and protecting her, and she had loved me in return. We had been vulnerable with each other, and we  had raised our sons and daughters together. But it had been years since she could produce offspring, and  her strength was not what it once was. I held my children close and looked into her eyes as she left us. I  could not wait to join her. 

Some day, I will join them. But until then, I will live, learn and work, until my body can no longer. 

Years passed, and my body grew ever more fragile. I no longer had the strength I once had, and  sometimes I could not recall what had happened just moments earlier. But despite my age, I did not feel 

useless. Instead of my work, I found purpose in loving my children. But as my condition deteriorated, the  community turned against me. Even my children disappeared, one by one. I was seen as selfish and  inconsiderate. Was my life more important than the well-being of the community? I had lived my years,  and I had lived them well. Yet, I did not want to die. Some days, I did consider taking my own life, but I  had lost my chance to die a hero. I had chosen to live, and I had to make the most of it. 

But in my solitude, I was not alone. I found a new purpose and beauty in the wild. It was the only  place free of the sneered comments of my former friends and family. 

And I was better for it. 

Now, I spend my time feeding the birds and eating berries. There is serenity in the woods which  evades the eye of one who spends their life sowing seeds. There is meaning for those who are told they  have passed their prime. Even if the animals do not understand my mumbled speech, there is wisdom to  be shared. The birds do not care if I remember what happened mere moments ago. They love me for what  I can still provide and are glad I am alive. 

I still miss my family sometimes, and I often think of my wife, waiting for me beyond the veil. I  will join them all someday. Some day. But not today. Today, I will find purpose where I have been told I  have none. I will find joy. And when I do join them, it will be when my body has grown too weak to  support itself, rather than others. And my body will lie in the forest and feed the plants. The trees will  flourish, and I will give back to those who never asked for more than I could give. 

By Matthew Schmidt