Of Death And Defying It

 

31 May 2010

 

If death is likened to gravity, which we cannot absolutely defy, then living with it on a regular frequency is a state of partial weightlessness. Our daily existence is a continuing skirmish with death. For every moment that a life-form, however animate or lethargic, is sent to inhabit this earth, it is just a matter of time before finally the probability and likelihood of death becomes apparently a certainty. Chances are, nature has its distinct scheme of impermanence and turns everything in this world, regardless of significance or magnitude, into sub-atomic particles to restore equilibrium.

 

Having lived in a nuclear family of nine (9) inclusive of parents and siblings, I have witnessed death more than twice. But since my memory seems to fail me in the retrieval of memories, I will stick to two most remembered losses. First was when my father died and once more when my maternal grandmother departed as well.

The most vivid memory that I have of my father was the last time he would be signing my report card. That, I suppose, was when I was in Second Year High School. He even said “Where in this world would you ever find a penmanship and signature such as this?”. The good thing is, just recently, someone unearthed things in my past and put them into perspective. Unconsciously, the numerical figures on that same scholastic record would eventually be turned into a system to benefit many in my place of work.

 

My father’s death in 1995 came as a collective result of his hardships, toils and neglect. Doctors labeled it “congestive heart failure” later. The only thing that I regret is the fact that I never had the chance to learn much from him, ask him questions that would probably matter in my days ahead and partly I have to blame it to my youth. And as I old, I envy my older siblings, brothers in particular, for their inherent abilities that I was never endowed naturally or by genetic inheritance including practical, technical and mechanical skills, eloquence, intelligence, diplomacy. Most likely, I have to find my way and figure things out myself.

 

Some years later, my grandmother finally succumbed after a short-lived battle with colon cancer. And for both losses came flooding streams of tears, of guilt, of longing, of acceptance. I do not involuntarily cry because I have to or merely for reasons of committing to the demands of the circumstance. It is basically my eyes’ induced reaction to spontaneous lachrymal suppression.

 

Death, just like betrayal and distrust, is a faithful reality. It is there to remind us how much time we still have and that unfortunately we do not have much.