When a loved one is nearing the end—after a long and meaningful life—we often cling to words of hope . “We will pray for you,” we say, with affection and sincerity. Yet behind those words lies a quiet struggle between faith and acceptance. In this reflection, Dr Pola Singh explores the emotional, cultural and spiritual tensions that surround end-of-life truths—and asks whether our prayers bring comfort, or prolong pain.
By Dr Pola Singh | Opinion |
When Prayers Prolong Pain
There comes a time in every life when the body, once vibrant and resilient, begins to falter. For those who have lived long and well—past 80, perhaps 90—the final chapters are often marked by hospital visits, quiet suffering, and the slow surrender of physical strength.
And yet, when such a person lies in the Intensive Care Unit (ICU), ravaged by stage four cancer or other terminal conditions, we often respond with the same refrain: “We will pray for him.”
We say it with love. We say it with hope. But do we say it with honesty?
The Comfort of Prayer
Prayer is a sacred act. It binds us to one another and to something greater than ourselves. In moments of crisis, prayer gives us structure when chaos threatens to overwhelm. It offers solace, unity and a sense of purpose.
In our Malaysian, and particularly, Sikh tradition, prayer—ardaas—is both a collective and deeply personal act. At the Gurdwara, families often gather when a loved one is ill, seeking strength from the Guru’s words and the community’s prayers. It is not merely ritual; it is an expression of surrender to Waheguru’s hukam (Divine Will).
But even as we bow our heads and seek comfort, a quiet question lingers: What exactly are we praying for? Are we praying for recovery, even when recovery is no longer possible? Are we praying for strength, when strength only prolongs pain?
Are we praying for peace—or are we afraid to name it?
The Silence Behind the Words
In private, we whisper truths we dare not say aloud.
“He has done his time.”
“He should be allowed to go.”
“Let him return to his Maker.”
These are not cruel thoughts—they are compassionate ones. They come from a place of love, respect and the desire to see someone we cherish released from suffering.
Yet, in public, we often choose politeness over truth. “We will pray for you” is safe. It is kind. It offends no one. But it can also be a mask—a way to shield ourselves from the unbearable truth that sometimes, the kindest prayer is one of release.
A Personal Reckoning
I have faced this dilemma myself—caught between the heart’s tenderness and the mind’s honesty. Watching someone beloved slip away, I found myself torn between praying for a miracle and quietly wishing for peace.
To pray for recovery felt hopeful—but also, perhaps, selfish. To pray for release felt painful—but also merciful.
And in that space between faith and acceptance, I learned that love is not only in holding on, but also in knowing when to let go.
Sikhism teaches that life and death are both part of hukam. The Guru reminds us that the soul does not die—it simply transitions. We are accepting that the Divine knows what is best, even when our hearts ache.
A Life Well Lived Deserves a Peaceful Farewell
When a person has lived with grace, contributed to family and community, and inspired others through their journey, their passing should be marked not by desperate clinging, but by gentle letting go.
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To say, “His time is near,” is not to give up—it is to honour the fullness of his life. We must learn to speak with both reverence and realism. To say, “He has been a wonderful soul, and we now pray for his peace.”
Such words do not diminish our love. They deepen it. In Sikh homes, after a loved one’s passing, prayers are read—not to mourn endlessly, but to celebrate a life well lived and to guide the departed soul towards eternal peace. That, too, is a form of love.
Honesty, Not Harshness
This is not a call for bluntness or insensitivity. It is a call for emotional courage—for language that uplifts without deceiving. We might say, “May he be at peace,” “He has lived beautifully,” or “We entrust him to God.”
Such words shift our prayers from cure to comfort, from fear to faith, from desperation to dignity. They align us with the Guru’s teaching that acceptance brings inner calm, even amid grief. When we learn to speak this truth gently, we honour both our humanity and our faith.
A New Kind of Prayer
Perhaps it is time to redefine what it means to pray for someone at the end of life. Let our prayers be for comfort, not cure—for serenity, not struggle—for a farewell that reflects the beauty of the life lived.
When we gather at the Gurdwara or in our homes, instead of only seeking a miracle, let us also seek courage, acceptance and understanding. Let our ardaas include gratitude for the person’s journey and a plea for their peaceful transition into the Creator’s embrace.
To pray is to care. To speak truth is to love. And to let go is sometimes the most sacred act of all. Let us be brave enough to say what we mean, gentle enough to say it with grace, and wise enough to know that a prayer for peace may be the most powerful prayer of all.
(The article has also been shared at Asia Samachar Facebook and Instagram)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dr Pola Singh, who retired as Maritime Institute of Malaysia director-general in 2011, is also the author of ‘Uphill — The Journey of a Sikh-Chinese Kampung Boy’
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