The Sordid Face of Reality

Well, that really came out of left field.

All my life, i really thought that my grandfather would reach the age of 100. How can i think otherwise, when he was always more active than people his age. He played sports, he exercises regularly... heck, he even actively participated in the sex trade until the past year or so. And compared to my grandmother who has a lot of illnesses, he remained relatively healthy. Until late last year, when he started to complain that he was feeling weak. He doesn't like going to doctors. Whenever he gets sick, he just lets the disease run its course--- sometimes with the help of herbal stuff, and rarely does he take legit medications. His archaic beliefs have been a source of our numerous clashes while i was growing up, especially when he enforces those beliefs upon me. He says that vitamins are bad for one's health. He says that food in restaurants are dirty. We should never take a bath a night, we should never clean the house at night, we should never spend money on Mondays, we should always go to church before 12 noon---- doing otherwise would bring us ill fortune. Of course, being the hard headed grandson that I was, i frequently disobeyed. I knew those beliefs had no basis and they were senseless, and often i found the guts to tell him that--- and that wasn't easy, because in our house, he was the authority. I lived with my grandparents all my life. Besides my grandmother and my brother, he was the only other person that i see everyday. In the game of good cop- bad cop, he was the bad cop while my grandmother was the bad cop. When we were kids, we were so afraid of his thick belt and that thick wooden stick of his. One wrong move and he would lash us with either one, whichever he could grab first. I remember the day when I was already in my early teens and I was already strong enough to fight back. Instead of just crying while he hit us, I grabbed that wooden stick and broke it in two. He then told me to get out of his house and to never return. My grandmother was crying her heart out as my mom took me away. I spent a week at my parents house. I came back because of my grandmother. I swallowed my pride and did what it took for my grandfather to forgive me--- I knelt before him and said i was sorry. I was wrong and I would never do that again. He slapped me afterwards, and I tried so hard not to fight back.

The rest of my teenage years were tumultuous. I was never the type who would bow down in submission, especially if I do not see the point. I never agreed with his ancient beliefs--- like whenever a boy and a girl were left alone in a room, they would surely have sex. That's why we were never left alone in a room with our sisters. I told him how perverse his way of thinking was, and of course he wanted me out of his house again. When I threw a party at my house and my friends and i slept in a single room, he scolded me for organizing an orgy. But no matter how much i would try to reason out, it was no use. He was the authority. He was the law. He was right, and everyone else was wrong. That's just the way he is and we had to deal with it. Even my father was afraid of him. I even hated the fact that he was so religious, yet he does things that no religious man would ever do. Gambling, watching porno, cavorting with prostitutes, saying curses and shouting expletives after every sentence... Every time he scolds me he would quote the Bible, and I just couldn't help but answer back. I was the rebel, i was the only one who had the guts to answer back... I saw myself as the defender of my siblings and I had to fight the villain for all of us. But as i grew up, eventually i learned how to shut up. I learned the art of silence. I learned how to ignore everything that he said no matter how hurtful and no matter how senseless they are. By the time I reached my mid-twenties, he seem to have mellowed a bit. i guess he finally saw me as an adult, and dealing with me in an authoritarian manner like he used to would be a little inappropriate.

In recent years, we manage to have small talks, mainly about his health. He always remained healthy, so there was nothing much to talk about. So we talked more about the future, and how he was going to leave everything that he had to me and my brother. I don't know how he sees me now, but all the animosity that we had all those years seemed to have dissipated. I feel no hatred towards him, but I'm not sure if I feel some love. We get along now, but somehow, I can't help but feel a little detached. Maybe because he was the bad cop as I was growing up. That drove a wedge between us. He wasn't the person i ran to when I was growing up. He was the person that I avoided, he was the person that i was afraid of. The last time that we talked was the day before I left for the USA. He told me that it would be better for me to stay here and serve my own countrymen. Then I told him how much it sucks to be a doctor here... that I have no future here. The talk I had earlier with my grandmother was difficult, but my talk with him seemed to be just as difficult. Because as I was explaining everything to him, that was the first time that I saw him teary eyed. He was actually on the verge of tears, and he was trying so hard to keep those tears from falling. He said something like he doesn't want to die without his entire family by his side. Of course i brushed it off. I told him that he was the prime example of health. He still had many years ahead of him. To think otherwise would be preposterous.

When I got back home last week, he seemed like a different person. He was so weak, he couldn't even walk alone. He even found it hard to eat by himself. For the first time, he was weaker than my grandmother, it all seemed surreal. I couldn't really tell what was wrong with him. I recognized that his heartbeat was irregular since last year, i thought he could have a cardiac pathology. After a series of discussions, I finally convinced him to go see a specialist. We practically had to force him to go. He didn't like the trip to the hospital, and he didn't like the fact that he had to wait for 30 minutes before being seen, but we managed to keep him inside the doctor's waiting area despite his numerous pronouncements that he wanted to go home. He was seen by the doctor, initial meds were given, a follow up check up was scheduled, and x-rays and blood works were done... the results of which we found out today.

He has stage 4 cancer. He never consulted a doctor for the past decade or so... whether or not we could have detected the disease in its early stages, we'll never know. The source of the cancer wasn't clear, but it seems that it originated from one of his kidneys. There were numerous metastases to lungs, to the liver, to his entire abdominal cavity. There were even metastases to his muscles and bones. No wonder he was felt so weak. Even chemotherapy would be useless at this stage. No wonder the changes were so abrupt. It's just weird that he doesn't feel any pain. There are no other symptoms, just weakness. Once again, it just seems so surreal. At first I was shocked, and until now I am in a state of disbelief.

Still, I do not feel any sorrow, at least for now. I still feel detached. I don't know what exactly it is I'm feeling. Probably because we did not have a strong bond as I was growing up... probably because I still can't believe that he's really dying. His cancer is terminal, and he only has a few more months, or maybe just a few more weeks to live. And now he refuses to go to the doctor, he just wants to stay in his room, saying he has given up, he does not want to receive any more treatment, he does not want to take any more medications. I would like to think that he has lived long enough. He has done so many things in his life and i think he would leave this world with a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment... but seeing him like this, it just doesn't seem right. It's like seeing Superman in the twilight of his life, broken, worn out, and beaten. The cosmos must be playing some sort of practical joke because the man I'm seeing now isn't the grandfather that i have known all my life. There's just no way that all this could be real.

It just can't be.