In a medieval story, a wise old Buddhist priest lives in his village with his wife, young son and students. He teaches them the great, so-called “noble truths” of their teaching, that pain is the fundamental law of life, that the cause of pain is desire, and the remedy for pain is the elimination of desire. And of course, that the whole world is vain, phenomena are illusions, and behind them and above them is a single and eternal truth.

Beyond words, their teacher’s patience, perseverance, apathy, and stoicism in the face of adversity are their greatest lesson. His students believe him as a father, teacher, god. Until one day the priest’s little son dies. Then he dissolves. He cries like a baby. At first, his students sympathize. But with days when his pain does not stop, they begin to shake, resent, almost lose faith. And they ask him one day: “Master, did you not teach us noble truths? Haven’t you taught us so many times that the secret is to destroy desire? Didn’t he teach us that all phenomena are illusions? “Yes, children,” he says, “I taught you.” “You don’t believe them?” they ask him. “I believe them,” he says. “Then why are you crying inconsolably for so many days over the death of your son? Isn’t your love for him a desire? Isn’t the death of a child an illusion? “Yes,” he tells them. “The death of a child is also an illusion. But this is the worst illusion in the world.”

Those of us who had—and who didn’t? – the sad privilege of knowing in our circle of people who have lost a child, we understand the meaning of this story. There is nothing worse in a person, and those whom I know, with whom this drama happened, became different people, some went crazy, but everyone’s life has changed forever and they will never live the same. The death of a child is not just the greatest tragedy in life, for parents it is perhaps the only event in life that is a real tragedy. Aeschylus speaks of “long-suffering pain”, this “pain of the memory of pain” that never leaves us, because even if we wanted to, even in a dream, it still “drips from the heart”, drop by drop into the heart.

All our thoughts at this time are with the families and loved ones of the victims of the tragic accident. But since most of the victims were tragically very young, our thoughts are with their parents first. No one would want to be in their place in their worst nightmare. But no matter how much we think about them, none of us really feel them. And how to feel them? This is a man.

We must experience this collective mourning as much as possible and share it as a society in order to be able to manage it.

So I, like every Greek and every Greek woman, was shocked by the tragedy, the images, the reactions, the thoughts. Personally, I can’t stand reading reports, especially about victims and their families, and in my conversations with friends, I’ve seen the same attitude in others. She is human. You see, we have the luxury, as non-participants directly involved in the event, to practice avoiding “lingering pain” so as not to let the memory of it overwhelm us. Nevertheless, it dominates now and will dominate our lives for a long time to come. Pain needs digestion, and digestion takes time.

But not forever – this is our great difference from the relatives of the victims. And of course, the vast majority of the country’s citizens are not the parents of the victims.

And still. Something has changed. Temporarily, our lives will not be the same. For days, for weeks, this event will not be forgotten by those who have at least elementary empathy, but I want to believe that most of us. Gradually, over time, at first we will all become, so to speak, good Buddhists, and then we will return to everyday life. And someday we will mention this tragedy as another event. We are all human at heart, and the memory of pain makes us truly human. It reconciles us to the finiteness of human existence. This memory of pain needs to be constantly recalled because it ultimately reminds us of how vulnerable and ephemeral we are as human beings. He takes us off the horse of arrogance. Therefore, we must experience this collective mourning as much as possible and share it as a society in order to be able to manage it and ultimately heal it. If we try to go through him with summary procedures, he will find us in the next corner and be more severe.

But especially those of us who have children should experience it even more, because these days we feel double gratitude for their health, but above all for their existence and life. This is also a person. But this is a double feeling, perhaps we should try to keep it even longer than the grief over the tragedy lasts. Our “mournful pain” will fade away. But our children deserve this double gratitude for what they are, and it would be good not to lose it. Let’s remember every moment as this bitter, bitterest tragedy.

* Mr. Apostolos Doxiadis is the author.