On Tragedy

I see two children, view them enter, sit and buckle in the rear seat of an unmentioned minivan. I notice the chauffeur, the mother of the two toddlers, ascend the onramp of a 400 highway, her foot pressing further down on the accellerator to match the speed of the passing vehicles. I look to the horizon and just down, an unwanted, discarded, rust-touched muffler; its exhaust pipe attached perpendicularly like a periscope on a sole submarine alone in a sea of sun-hazed ashfalt (as the mother soon shall be). Late, she notices it, her attention on the rear-view mirror voicing admonitions on two arguing, distempered, ride-forced kids. I concentrate on her face, recognition and realization appear, and fear kisses those lips like a known rapist. Instinct, the will to survive conquers her arms, her hands yank the wheel, and she lives; but only after one of two situations result. I witness them both. The van swerves, it tips, turns on its side and rolls, her children crushed ! with the impact, like so much road-kill, flesh and bones; her speed unwarranted the crash. It should not have, like a mangled pancake, flipped. Flashback, the van flips not. It does turn to avoid, force on the bolts, attachments detach, the removable back seat removes and crashes through the rear doors. She watches her screaming offspring shrink in the distance, growing smaller as they tumble head over head on the highway; until gravity and decelleration enhance their presence, the crumpled seat rests and the screams are heard no more; just so much road-kill, flesh and bones; but, the force of the turn unwarranted the loss of the bolt. It should not have, like so much Rice Crispies, snapped, crackled and popped. I move to the near future; manufacturers defect they say. Suits result and eyes stream salt water. God is selfish with children; mother sees them not again.

Is this tragedy?

I see a woman, view her with child. He is growing within her. She feels him intimately, like a platonic lover. He is her first (and unbeknownst to her, the last). I observe her flip through the calendars she keeps safe in the vanity, all filled with Xs, marking off each day to dissapoint the treasure hunter. I behold this hunter; it's her former self, the un-pregnant one. The treasure of conception eluded her for so long, until the dream man entered. But the Xs must still be inscribed, 1267 pen strokes, as the four calendars testify. Dream man, father his name will be when gestation concludes, or so she believes. However, counting on the future, as so many chicks hatched becomes an egg-makers nightmare. Flash forward, a birthing room at the local hospital, nine months passed. Discussion between obstitritons finished. Caesar meets his Brutus and natural birth will ensue. Vaginal canal is too small. PHDs wasted with the loser's argument. Baby is passed ali! ve. However, moments bear alms unwell and give the infant but a few. Hemorrhage is arrested, but barren is the land the mother now inhabits. Father becomes ex-husband. I move to the near future. Suits result. Forceps applied too vigorously, the opening compressed the skull and death resulted, like so much aborted matter, flesh and bone. God is selfish with children and protects this one also.

Is this tragedy?

Do you believe these histories? Dramatic as they are, truth bears witness to them, more or less. I could continue with others but repetition breeds boredom and:

The loose held pen is dead,
When words are written but not read.

But, are these accounts tragic? What is tragedy? Is tragedy, as the first story indicates, unexpected death of loved ones?

But shouldn't all death be expected,
We all die, at times early and undetected.

Is tragedy a loss where a gain is foreseen, such as the second story reveals?

If I was to say there is no tragedy:

Would you think me muddle-headed from heat,
A skull without mind, a heart without beat?

Yes, I say there is no tragedy.

Death and loss should always be expected. If it occurs, it is not tragedy. It is change, it is loss, and it is opportunity to learn. When the woman stepped into the minivan she should not be surprised that an accident might follow. She may think herself a competent chauffeur but:

In her hands is control she will swear
But when she unclenches all is unseen air.

When the accident does occur she thinks it unexpected. But this thought of unexpectedness results not in tragedy but loss of ignorance. Tragedy does not exist.

The woman giving birth expects to gain a new born baby son. What resulted is barrenness and loss of an infant. It seems to her to be unexpected. It should not be. The unexpected outcome is not tragedy it is the realization of ignorance.

Tragedy implies a journey to madness. Shakespeare's Lear enters this realm when the outcome of his generosity to his two undeserving daughters results in actions unforeseen.

Tragedy implies victimization. Lear is taken advantage of by his two daughters.

Tragedy implies loss of control. Lear was once King. But now his daughters have seized power.

Tragedy implies participation by the victim in his own fate. Lear, through his own free will, gave Goneril and Regan his kingdom.

Tragedy implies ignorance (or a tragic flaw). Lear believed that he could keep the honour and glory of power without the responsibility.

If we as a race can see the possible unfortunate results from even the simplest of actions, and take these outcomes as simply part of the moving world, then tragedy can not exist for any of us.

Maybe I'm wrong in a way. Not that tragedy exists, but that we as humans need to fool ourselves into ignoring that it doesn't (in other words refusing the truth). Maybe we need the thoughts of "it could not happen to me," or "the world is a safe place to be." Perhaps these musings are what keep us sane. Maybe lying to ourselves keeps the psychological hounds at bay. But won't we only be safe if what is thought of as tragedy stays a distant stranger? And as any enlightened individual will testify this stranger will at some point in our life become our closest companion.

So for those because of belief in tragedy, have pain and loneliness as their now lifelong friend; their only learned response. I say you may have it. You are victim. Shackles are your life. I will embrace pain and move on, learn it's a part of life like breathing or joy because: