I woke up at 7:15
to a surprisingly quiet morning. There were no sounds of kids playing
outside
or lively chatter on the other side of the door. What a
treat! I thought. I got dressed and opened the door. I
smelled an unusual aroma as I stepped out. Smoke. No, incense…
Taing Heng (Dong
Heng), one of the older Palm Tree kids, had died. He was living in Siem
Reap
and was on his way to pick up his little sister from work on his moto.
He was
almost there when he turned the corner and got hit by a bus. His neck
was
broken. There was no chance of survival. He was 24 years old.
Taing Heng wearing his hat hanging out with friends |
Days like
this help
me understand the saying “heavy heart.” It truly feels heavier
than other days, as if sadness, held in the heart,
literally weighs more. It’s as if you can feel gravity’s pull more on
days like
these.
Taing Heng was one
of my favorite Palm Tree kids. I first met him in 2007 when I was in
Vietnam on
my Semester at Sea Voyage. He came and performed a Khmer dance on the
ship. He
was always smiling and had a contagious sense of humor around Palm Tree.
His
constant laughing and joking made me laugh loud and often. I was looking
forward to seeing him return after the Khmer New Year. He was
the one
you went to if you needed something done, or simply just needed a favor... and now he's gone.
We lit
incense that
morning and held them as we prayed silently together. The smell of sweet
smoke
filled the air, and though we had no walls or priests or alters, we made
a
temple with our presence. One by one we placed the incense in the small
pagoda-like
box. Stopped our busy world to remember the important things lost.
It’s a sad
irony
that I learned of his death on Easter morning, a day that is suppose to
be a
celebration of life over death. A day of resurrection. But what seems to
be a
double-dose of Good Friday is still Easter for me. If I can make sense
of
anything between Easter and Taing Heng, it’s the hope that death isn’t
the end.
It’s a part of life that everyone must partake, a transition that for
Taing
Heng came too early in our eyes.
I’m not
justifying
what happened. I’m not pretending to understand it, to reason my way out
of
this sad reality because I don’t understand. It just happened. But I’m
thankful
for his life. During our silent prayers I thanked him for sharing it
with me
and making my life more joyful.
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