Nines

I've had a number of close encounters with death in my life. Just a slight miscalculation, or one seemingly negligible change in the chain of events could have led to a very different outcome. I have cheated death more than once, and i wonder why it had kept on evading me. The existentialist in me would believe that i still have a purpose, there's still something that i have to do in this life, that's why it just can't let go of me. But the pessimist in me would dismiss such beliefs as hogwash. It's all coincidental. There's no higher power. There's nothing more to it than luck. Nothing but pure, dumb, stupid luck.

When I was 10, i remember floating in outer space. It was such a vivid memory. I felt so serene and at peace, but that feeling didn't last long. Aliens appeared out of nowhere and they began to chase me. No matter where i would hide, they would always find me, and i was so afraid of them. They could catch me any minute and i was sure that they would kill me. I didn't want to die, but that's exactly what's going to happen when they catch me. I couldn't fight them, there were too many of them and they were so strong, running and hiding was my only option. I felt as if my heart was going to explode from all the fatigue. If they didn't kill me, i would die of exhaustion instead... but that would still be the better option. Better than dying in the hands of those space creatures. It lasted for days before i finally escaped. And the visions of outer space and my intergalactic horrors slowly faded, at first merging with reality before disappearing completely. I was bedridden at home for a week before they admitted me to a hospital. Everyone thought that it was just a simple fever, but it turned out i already had meningitis. The doctor said they administered the antibiotics in time. If treatment got delayed for even a day, i probably would have died. I didn't understand all the fancy words i was hearing back then, but i understood that it was serious condition, and i was so thankful that everything turned out right. I was 10, i had so many things to look forward to, i had so many years ahead of me. I was happy to be alive.

I can't exactly remember the reason why i felt so bad at that time, but back when i was around fifteen, i thought my whole world was falling apart. I felt that there was no other choice, i had to escape. On hindsight, i believe it was a combination of multiple superficial and insignificant things that just piled up. To my present self, whatever problems i faced back then were nothing compared to the ones i encounter these days... but back then, things were so different. When you are young, everything is amplified. Nothing is insignificant. Even the littlest things can cause a great amount of pain. That was when i found myself standing on the top floor of our house. After an hour or so of crying, i decided that it was time. There's no other way, all i had to do was jump and it would be over. I stood up, i closed my eyes, and just when i was about to leap forward, a strong gush of wind pushed me back and i fell on the floor. I was a religious person back then, and i saw that as a sign. That I still had to keep on fighting, i still had to keep on living. I still had a purpose. I could almost feel death breathing down my neck, and just like that, i decided against it. I saw something, but in truth there was nothing. I believed that a superior being pushed me back and kept me from making a huge mistake, but in truth it was all coincidental. I was the only one up there on that ledge and no one else. No one prevented me from jumping but myself... back then, i just couldn't see that. It was easier to believe in superstitions. When you are young and you haven't encountered all the different types of shit that life throws at you, it's easier to turn a blind eye. It's easier to pretend and make believe.

It was a few days before Christmas on December 2003 when i fell asleep driving on my way home. I had a number of exams on that week, and i slept for only 2 hours each day. The night before it happened, i didn't sleep at all. I came from my friend's place and i left as soon a we exchanged Christmas presents. The last thing i remembered was i was driving at about 140 km/hr on the highway, and then i woke up with a lot of people surrounding my car. Someone was knocking on the windshield. I looked ahead and saw that I crashed into a parked car and its rear end was totaled. In order to get there from where i was, i had to make a U turn, do a quick right turn and pass by an intersection. I couldn't have possibly done that unconsciously... to be able to make it that far without hitting someone, without crashing into something else was quite impossible. My faith was already wavering that time, and i doubt if some superior being had any hand in it, but i had to admit that what happened was a miracle. My car wasn't damaged as much, and i didn't even have a single scratch on me. Everything about that event was nothing short of a miracle. It's probably dumb luck, but it was really miraculous just the same.

January 2008. That was when my highly publicized accident happened. My car was a total wreck, it burst into flames and nothing could be salvaged from it. It was funny. I could no longer count the times when i went home drunk and still managed to come home in one piece despite the fact that i couldn't remember how exactly i got home when i wake up in the morning.... and on that one time when i just had a few drinks and i wasn't even tipsy, i decide to drive too fast just to get that adrenaline rush and then ---- BAM! Driving on a curved road above the speed limit was a disaster waiting to happen. It was all over the evening news, and the footage can still be seen on Youtube up to this day that my friends continue to bring it up every now and then much to our amusement. I could laugh at it now, and i could poke fun at the fifteen minutes of fame that the incident brought me, but it wasn't funny back then. My life was already a mess back then, as messy as it is now, that if i died back then i wouldn't even care. If there was an afterlife, i'd probably be looking at the wreck, looking at my lifeless, bloody body and i'd most definitely be smiling. Because it's all over. It's finally all over. But I had a friend with me at that time, and that made all the difference. I may not regard my life as much, but to take another life with me as i throw away my own, whether intentionally or not... that's not something i could bear. If i was driving alone, i would have wanted things to turn out differently instead. It would have spared me from all the shit that i had to deal with in the succeeding years. But i wasn't alone, and that's one time that i have to thank my dumb luck. It was one of those rare occasions wherein luck was on my side instead of against me. It wasn't divine intervention. It was just plain luck. Something that happened by chance, something coincidental. To put reason into a non specific chain of events would be over analyzing. But for the sake of argument, if some superior being did keep on saving me all those times, then it must be a superior being with a wicked sense of humor. A being that finds it so amusing to keep me in this rut. I couldn't put much faith in such a being now, can it?

I have cheated death so many times, i often ask myself if there's a reason why. Do i really have a purpose in this life? is there really something that i still have to do? can i really make a difference? With the number of times that i have cheated death, anyone who's even slightly superstitious would probably say yes. Something like that could be seen as strangely logical. If i have some sort of purpose in this life, i am not seeing it. If i have to do it in the future, how many more years do i have to wait? how much longer do i have to languish in this purgatory? I would say that i have touched the lives of a few people. I know of two people who have said that their lives are better because they got to know me. And for some weird reason, someone told me once that i gave her inspiration. In my line of work, i know a number of people who are alive because of me. Either i've directly treated them, or because i was able to help them financially to afford the medications and procedures that they needed. If that's my purpose, then it's not enough. Those things do not happen often enough. I need something like that constantly, i need something that would keep me pushing and fighting continuously. Opportunities that happen sporadically aren't enough. Everyone needs a purpose to go on through life. It may be something that inspires you, it may be something that drives you insane, but either way, it keeps you going. To live a life without purpose would be dull, uneventful. It's like you're not living at all. A life without purpose is a life without meaning. You'd often wish you were just dead because it would seem you're not really living anyway. Your body may be functional, but everything else is just lifeless. It wouldn't make any difference whether you're still alive or already dead.

Hereafter

I've been spending the last couple of days in my grandma's room. I've been sleeping there for the past two nights as well. It's funny how everyone else seems to be afraid to be left alone inside her room. Somehow, being inside her room gives me comfort. Staying in her room fills me with grief... the rush of painful memories is just too much for me to bear... but it gives me an odd sense of comfort as well.

I really don't understand why my parents and my siblings are behaving that way. I guess people who are not in the medical field see things differently. they are prone to religious manipulations, and are more receptive to folklore and superstitions. i don't believe in ghosts. i don't believe in spirits who choose to remain with the living because they still can't move on for whatever reason. With the number of deaths that I have witnessed, with the number of times i spend alone in dark and secluded places, if those entities were real, i would have seen one by now. Every now and then i hear people saying that they have seen ghosts, that they have seen departed loved ones... in my head, I just keep on saying bullsh*t. There is absolutely no proof. All we have are anecdotes, people swearing by what they thought they have seen, but with absolutely no tangible evidence to support their pronouncements. It's been well documented that people are prone to experience visual and auditory hallucinations whenever they are stressed, whenever they experience much grief. I have tried to explain this to my mom, to my aunt, to my cousins who have sworn that they've seen their departed loved ones reaching out to them. but even with sufficient evidence, when it comes to the battle between what's real and what's only an illusion, people would still choose to believe what they want to believe. I can't really say I blame them. When the truth hurts as much as it does sometimes, it is better to believe in lies when they give us so much comfort.

My family believes that my grandma's presence is still in her room. That's the exact words of my dad. Let's say for the sake of argument, she still is. her spirit is still with us. I am willing to suspend my disbelief. I just can't understand why they are so afraid of her. She played a big part in all our lives. She played such a big part in my life. How I can I possibly be afraid of her. If it's true that she's still there, i would spend more time there, talking to her, trying to reach out to her. And that's exactly what i have been doing for the past few days. i suspended my disbelief, and tried to reach out to her.

Most of the time I just sit on her chair. Looking at her photo albums, watching TV, eating a snack, but most of the time i just sit there doing nothing. i try talking to her, asking her how she felt about me, if she was angry, if she was disappointed. I tell her how sorry I am for not doing enough. for never doing enough. but most of the time, i just sit there, in silence. And then without warning and without any provocation, I always start to cry. There were still so many things that i wanted to do, and so many things that I wanted to say, but i just couldn't. Because the belief that she's still here with us is nothing but superstition. I never wanted to admit this, but everyone knows that i was her favorite grandchild, and I just find it impossible to believe that she reached out to our family driver, that she made her presence felt to our housekeeper, but she never tried to reach out to me. The things that they say they've seen, the noises that they say they've heard, the things that they say they've felt--- all of those things are nothing but figments of their overly active imaginations, because their minds have been programmed to react in such a way. Because the minds of most people have been programmed to react in such a way when faced with death. All those hours that i spend inside her room, those two nights that i cried myself to sleep in her bed, all those times that i have been talking to her, crying out to her, and i never got any answer. not even one small sign that she could hear everything that i have been saying. I try to convince myself that she's still there, but i never got any confirmation. Because all those stories are just lies after all. Lies created by people to give themselves comfort. Lies that are passed on in every generation, so that it would be easier for all of us to cope with such loss. So that it would be much easier for us to move on. We pretend that it's not really too late because there's still an afterlife, and our loved ones are still watching us, guiding us as we go on with our lives. We pretend that it's never too late because they can still hear us say thanks, they can still hear our apologies. But it's all just a myth. There is no afterlife. Upon death, there is only nothing. We created this selfish fantasy so that we could feel good about ourselves. So that we could get rid of the grief... so that we can be free from the guilt. so that we can avoid all the pain that we deserve, all the hurt that we should be feeling indefinitely. We can say thanks, we can ask for forgiveness, we can tell them how much we love them, we can tell them all the things that we never told them when they were still alive... we can tell them all those words that would have mattered if we had told them when we could still hold their hands, when we could still see their smiles, when they could still answer back... but all this would be futile, because all those words wouldn't reach anyone. We could still make believe and convince ourselves otherwise, but the truth is, it's all just a myth. it's all make believe. It's all bullsh*t. I can no longer reach her, no matter how hard i try... because she is long gone.

And that only makes the guilt, the loneliness, and the pain that i have been feeling so much harder to bear.

Endless Replay

Don't you ever wish that you could turn back time? In my thirty years of existence, i have wished for that ability a number of times. To correct past mistakes. To make things better. To make things easier. To avoid all the pain and misery that our past actions have caused. But after some time, I would learn to live with the consequences of my past actions... mistakes, indiscretions, indecision. You could say that my mistakes have made me stronger, they have made me into a better person. You could say that with the help of time, which seems to have to ability to heal most wounds and mitigate all suffering... things have turned out for the best. With time, all the hurt that we have felt and caused in the past wouldn't seem to matter anymore. Eventually, with the help of time, all that would remain would only be a flicker.

For 23 days now, the events that transpired on the 13th day of June has been on endless replay on my mind. Before i go to sleep, when i wake up, when I'm walking alone, when I'm sitting alone, in every idle moment... I keep on remembering. And every day I would wish that i could turn back time, because maybe... just maybe... if I had done things differently, things would be so much different now. Maybe things would still be the way they were. I would still be in my comfort zone, where mostly everything was fine the way it was, where someone was always watching my back, that place where I could afford to be complacent and carefree, where I could afford to take risks because I knew that there was always someone who's supporting me and ready to catch me if ever I would fall. Not a single day would pass by wherein I wouldn't stare into nothing and keep on remembering. I have dissected every moment, every minute, every second, and I just keep seeing opportunities wherein I could have acted differently. And as days would pass by, I just can't help but feel more and more guilty. i can't help but feel that it's somehow my fault.

If I had been more persistent, if I didn't take no for an answer, if I went down on my knees and practically begged her to, maybe I could have brought her to the hospital when things weren't as critical and everything would be just the way it was. When I held her hand for the last time, and it just wouldn't stop shaking... if I only took that as a sign that things were taking their turn for the worst... if I only used my clinical eye and acted like a real doctor to her for the very first time, without any trace of weariness or spite, I could have finally done something to her that mattered. If I didn't leave her alone, even just for a few minutes, maybe I could have been there the very second her heart stopped beating... maybe that would have made the difference. Maybe if i didn't even bother to change clothes, or maybe if i didn't even bother to put her on her wheelchair because it just wouldn't fit through the door of her bedroom... maybe that could have amounted to something. If I called some of our neighbors to help us carry her, if only I drove faster, If I didn't even bother with stubborn pedestrians and stupid traffic rules, maybe we could have gotten to the hospital in time. If only I ran towards the emergency room faster, if only i shouted louder to call the attention of the hospital staff, they could have responded with a greater sense of urgency. If only I wasn't stupid enough to park the car near a post so that we could have brought the stretcher nearer to her side of the car, emergency measures could have probably been administered on time. Or maybe if I just brought her to a better hospital instead, one equipped with better facilities and manned by doctors who have better skills... to the hospital where we have always brought her, she could still be alive by now. I could still be talking to her right now. She could still be back home waiting patiently for the day that I would return.

I know that nothing is certain, and for all i know it could all have been inevitable... but with so many instances wherein i could have acted differently, I can't help but feel that things could have resulted to a much better outcome. I just can't help but think otherwise. All my life I never did enough for her. On the last day of her life, i still didn't do enough. It was as if I didn't care enough. For 30 years, I've had numerous opportunities to change and be a better grandson to her. The thirteenth of June was basically the synopsis of how I treated her for the past 30 years. Always in a rush, with a lot of mistakes... littered with opportunities wherein i could have acted differently but failed to do so... maybe even chose not to do so. She had waited patiently for 30 long years, still I never got to be the grandson that she truly deserved.

I doubt if i could ever learn to live with such a mistake.

The Longest Goodbye

It’s been 2 weeks since my grandmother passed away, and I’m still stuck in that stage of denial. I’m far away from home, so I guess that makes it easier. I can pretend that she’s still alive, I can pretend that I will still see her smiling face when I get back home a few months from now… but every time I find myself alone, I am quickly overcome by the harshness of reality… That I’d never get to see her again. I always remember how I spent those last few minutes of her life with her… how she looked, how her voice sounded, how her skin felt… and I just couldn’t keep myself from breaking down. She has done so much for me and for a lot of people… she didn’t deserve to go that way.

I doubt if I could ever forget. I doubt if anything could make this pain go away. How can I ever forget when many things around me tend to remind me of her? How could I ever forget when everything that I am now, I owe to her? I owe her so much that every time I look at myself in the mirror, I am reminded of her? And every time I look at myself, I can only imagine how disappointed she was of what I have become. That feeling of guilt only makes it harder. If only I have done something of worth, If only I have become that person that she could truly be proud of, it would have been easier. She would have left this world with a great sense of fulfillment. I could try to convince myself otherwise, I could keep on telling myself that i have become that person that anyone would be proud of... but every time I look into my eyes as I’m staring at my own reflection, I know that I would only be trying to fool myself.

When I first saw her when my parents brought her home from the hospital, I knew that she wasn’t well. I was right. She wasn’t supposed to be home yet, she went home against medical advice. As I sat beside her during her last few days, I was always filled with dread. Something wasn’t right. It felt as if something was about to break. I couldn’t carry any decent conversation with her. She failed to laugh as I told jokes, she failed to give any sensible answers to questions I would ask… I didn’t even see her smile anymore. It was as if the simple act of talking caused her a great deal of burden. I couldn’t stand seeing her that way, that was why I kept crying. Whereas before she would show immediate concern each time she felt that I was lonely or if something was bothering me… during those days she remained still and silent, with both of her eyes closed. As if she didn’t care about my feelings anymore… as if she didn’t care about the world anymore. I was practically begging her to go back to the hospital, but she would simply say NO. If I asked her why she didn’t want to go back, she would just say that she hated being at the hospital. When she said she’d rather die than to go back there, that’s when I finally shut up.

I spent that whole Saturday with her. She was just sitting still, desperately trying to sleep, while I was studying beside her. I knew that she wasn’t well, and that she probably wouldn’t make it until the end of the year… but I never thought that she would be gone the next day. It was inevitable, yet it happened so soon. I just wasn't ready. It’s been years since I’ve spent that much time with her. For the past few years we rarely talked. Our daily encounters were mostly confined to those times wherein I gave her meds and checked her blood pressure. It has been years since we’ve talked, and when I finally found the time to talk, it seemed that see was no longer able to. But as I sat beside her on that warm afternoon, even though we were not talking, everything seemed to be all right. In that certain moment in time, everything seemed right with the world. For some unexplainable reason that i could not fully grasp, that afternoon was close to perfection.

During that night, we began her routine of trying to lie down in bed, and then wanting to sit up again after only a few seconds. I would tell her that it’s no use since she cannot tolerate lying flat on the bed, but she would still insist so we would just oblige. After a few minutes of sitting down, she would ask us to help her lie down again, and this cycle went on and on even though she knew that there’s no way she could sleep on her bed. Normally I would have already lost my temper, but on that night, i remained calm. I was unusually calm. We did this all night, and when the sun had risen on Sunday, I knew that she was already too tired. She hadn’t slept for two whole days, and this had caused her even more fatigue. When her private nurse came, I tried to get some sleep. I lied down on my bed for almost three hours, but it was no use. I had lunch at around eleven that morning, and then sat beside her again afterward. When I opened the door to her room, I saw that she was becoming worse. When I sat beside her, I told her i would already be leaving in a few days. She asked me if I already booked my flight. I said yes. I then tried to persuade her to go back to the hospital again, but she still remained firm with her decision. I knew that I had to bring her to the hospital that day because her condition was worsening. I said everything that I could to try and convince her, and miraculously, she finally agreed. She picked up the phone and called my dad. She told him that she wants to go back to the hospital. My dad said he was on his way. I touched her skin and I noticed how dry it was, how rough it was. I held her hand, and noticed how weak her grip was. I ran my fingers through her hair as i hear her raspy breathing, and I told her I'll be back in a minute. I went back to my room to change my clothes. I wasn’t even gone for five minutes. When I went back to her room I saw her slumped on her chair and her nurse was panicking. I quickly rushed towards her and checked on her pulse. I felt nothing, and she was also no longer breathing.

I panicked. i did not know what to do at first. It was as if I've encountered a person who has suffered from cardiorespiratory arrest for the very first time. I tried to carry her on my own but I just couldn’t do it. My brother left a few minutes earlier along with my aunt, and my parents weren’t there yet. The only other person in the house was our maid, and I called for her. Together with the nurse, I tried to carry her, and they were barely helping at all. Both were small women, and they weren’t used to carrying such weight. We transferred her to her wheelchair, but it just couldn’t fit through the door, so we tried to carry her again. She was too heavy, and I was already screaming out of frustration and desperation. We managed to carry her outside but by that time our arms gave in. She fell on the ground, her dressed soiled as she lay on the ground of our garden. I started to cry. She has done so much good, she didn’t deserve to go this way, soiled and dirty on the ground, lying lifeless on the grass and weeds. I just couldn’t allow that to happen to her. That just felt so wrong. We managed to carry her again before we lost our grip and she fell again in our garage just as I was about to open the door to my car. By the time I turned the engine on, I tried to estimate the time that had lapsed. It took us such a long time, 10 minutes had probably already passed. And although I knew that it was probably already too late and that any resuscitative measures will be of no use, I still pressed on. I drove her to the nearest hospital. It wasn’t the best hospital, but in that situation, it was the best possible choice.

It took a very long time before the emergency room physician managed to intubate her. After ten more minutes, I knew that she was already gone. Even if they managed to revive her, she would have been brain dead already. That’s when I finally broke down. I felt as if my whole world collapsed. I’ve seen many patients who have suffered from cardiorespiratory arrest before, and I know the routine inside out… but it seemed so different when the person they are trying to revive is someone you know… someone you love. I just couldn’t watch them as they did all those things to her… as if she was some inanimate object… as if she wasn’t a person at all. After a few more minutes, my parents came, and they brought the dog with them. I wondered if they were really concerned. On the way to the hospital I managed to call my dad saying that grandma was no longer breathing and that I was bringing her to the nearest hospital. Their house wasn’t far away yet it took them such a long time to show up… and they even managed to bring the dog. But I didn’t entertain such thoughts at that time. I was too overwhelmed with grief, that I wasn’t capable of any sort of rational thinking. Apparently my dad called our other relatives, and they started to come in trickles. After 30 minutes of resuscitative measures, the ER doctor told us that it was no use anymore, and he was asking our permission for them to stop. I knew it was no use, but I just couldn’t say yes, I was still hoping for a miracle.

After 40 minutes, her heart started to function again. All our relatives breathed a sigh of relief, smiles started to show on their faces, and I didn’t have the heart to tell them the truth. They thought that everything would be all right. Everyone was feeling such joy, but I only kept on crying. I knew that she was already long gone, and nothing could ever bring her back.

The medications kept her heart beating until a little past 6 on Monday evening. She was admitted at the ICU, and our relatives took turns going inside to check on her. I just stayed outside even as most of our relatives went home. They smiled as they told me that my grandma was turning her head towards them, or that she was opening her eyes as they spoke to her… but I knew that all they saw were simply reflexes. She was no longer capable of understanding or even simply hearing the things they were saying because her brain was no longer functioning. The medications were the only things keeping her alive… and to even use the term “alive” entails a bit of exaggeration. My grandma was no longer there. The person who I’ve cherished the most all these years was no longer inside that room. All that remained was a body… with signs of wear and tear, evidence of all the suffering and hardships that she had to endure all those years… full of wounds sustained from this battle that we call life. It was a body that was on the brink of collapse, and any moment now, it would finally give in.

I just stayed outside until sunrise. I tried to sleep because I was so damn tired, but I just couldn’t. Each time I closed my eyes, I would see her… and every time I would think of what ifs. What if we didn’t allow her to go home despite her demands? I would probably still be checking her blood pressure and giving her medications today. What if my whole family was in the house at that time? What my brother didn’t leave the house to have lunch with his girlfriend? What if my parents actually came early for a change? Maybe we could have brought her to the hospital on time. Maybe I would be sitting beside her on a hospital bed today, and I would be talking to her, and I would be able to see her smile back. Maybe I would see her cry again as I kissed her goodbye when i leave for abroad. But all those things didn’t matter anymore. She was long gone, and nothing could ever bring her back.

Memories started to flicker. I have lived with her all my life. We slept in the same bed until after med school. That was when I told her pointblank that I didn’t want to sleep in the same room with my grandma anymore, because I needed some privacy. She patiently woke me up each morning and she literally had to drag me out of bed during elementary school even though I told her each morning that I didn’t want to go to school simply because I didn’t want to. I was such a spoiled brat and she tolerated it--- because I was her favorite. I knew that, and everyone else knew that. Most people knew her as stringy, yet when it came to me, she gave all that I wanted, she gave in to all my demands, no questions asked. She even had to spoonfeed me breakfast and give me a bath each morning because I was too lazy to do those things on my own. I was an overgrown baby. I’ve said hurtful things simply because I felt that I was shackled. She loved me too much that I felt that she kept on treating me like a child even when I was past the age of 18. I’ve said hurtful things on my quest for independence, because at that time, nothing else mattered to me. When she didn’t give me enough allowance to pay for the rent for my apartment during med school, I told her to stop being so stringy because everyone knew that she had a lot of money. Our dad had made us believe that she had an endless supply of cash, even though she was finding it hard at that time to keep all of us in school. She just underwent a major operation, and her bank account was almost empty, yet she never told anyone except for my grandpa. He even told her to stop paying for our education because it wasn’t her responsibility, it was the responsibility of our jobless father. My grandparents had numerous arguments because of this, yet we were so oblivious to the fact that we were the reason for their arguments. She was fighting for us. And I even had the gall to tell her that she was acting selfish, when all along I was the person who was only thinking of himself.

She calls me everyday whenever I’m away from home. When I’m on a 24 hour shift at the hospital, or when I’m on a vacation somewhere, she would always call. When I’m out of the country and gone for several days or even weeks, she would call everyday. Often I would simply ignore her calls, and if I would answer, at times I wouldn’t even try to hide my annoyance. Once, I even asked her why did she have to call everyday when there’s nothing new happening between us, so we just end up saying the same things over and over again. Often she would cry as I was talking to her, and I would tell her pointblank that she was over reacting. It’s not as if I would never come back. Often, I found all that melodrama exasperating. Many times whenever I found it hard to administer her medications intravenously, I don’t even try to hide my irritation. There’s anger in the tone of my voice, even though I could always tell her how hard it was in a nice way. And all those times she would just look at me calmly, as if asking me to please try and try again. There was that one time that she caught me in a bad mood, and after several attempts I just told her it was impossible and I simply walked out on her. When I came back after a few hours, she acted as if nothing happened. She acted as if she wasn’t hurt at all, which was so typical of her. Every time she found herself on the receiving end of my bouts of negative emotions, she would only give me love in return. For as long as I can remember, from my days as a spoiled brat, to my years as an arrogant young adult, she never chose to castigate me. All got in return for being so ungrateful was her unconditional love. She would tell everyone who would care enough to listen that she was so proud of me, that I was the grandchild who was the kindest, that i was the one who was most responsible, most dependable... the one who was always there for her. Even though I believe that she had to have some doubts regarding those things that she has been saying about me, at least if she's able to see me in the proper perspective--- she never said it out loud. She would choose to consciously overlook my faults, so that only the good things in me remained in her line of sight.

Everyone knew how thrifty she was. She’s as thrifty to the point that it wasn’t practical anymore. She seldom buys new shoes and clothes, and whenever she buys some, she chooses those that are of poorest quality. She only had a few nice clothes, and she kept on wearing them again and again on special occasions. Looking at the worn out shoes that she kept on wearing, you’d mistake that she was a homeless person, if you didn't know her at all. A lot of people wondered what she was saving up for. It’s not like she could bring all her riches in the afterlife, that’s what they say. But somehow, I knew the answer. No matter how much money I ask from her to pay for my expenses, she didn’t ask any questions. After she passed away I found out she left money for me to pay for my future expenses on my upcoming trip later this year. Even now that she’s gone, she’s still looking out for me. She rarely touched her money, not even for her own personal needs. She didn’t use that money to do things that would make her happy. But she once told me that she’s happy as long as she sees me happy, so I guess anything material could not give her that sort of happiness. From the day that I was born, until the very end of her life, she was looking after me because that made her happy. And I never could understand how I can give her that level of happiness, in spite of myself. I don’t know if there’s even a person alive who deserved such love. I just know for a fact that if ever such a person existed, that person couldn’t possibly be me.

When I told her that I’ve made the decision to work abroad, she just agreed. She paid for all those exams, no questions asked. She supported my decision, she even said I was making the right choice… yet I knew that she didn’t want me to go. She wouldn’t want her favorite grandchild to go away. Others have told me that she kept crying when I’ve made this decision, but every time I would talk to her about it, she would keep a straight face. All these years, she never showed me her true feelings when she knew that it would affect me in a negative way. She never showed me how sad I made her feel, how angry I made her feel… she never showed me any signs of loneliness, betrayal, nor disappointment, even though I knew that she was already keeping those emotions deep inside. She had always wanted the best for me, and she loved me unconditionally even though I was so undeserving of all that affection. That kind of love cannot be equated with anything else. That kind of love cannot be bought. Such love is unique. Such love is priceless.

I finally found the courage to see her at around seven in the morning. I thought that I was already in control of myself, but when I saw her, I started crying again. I just couldn’t stand seeing her that way… intubated, hooked up to all those machines, bloated… lifeless. I held her hand, I brushed my fingers through her hair, I touched her face, and I kissed her on the cheek. And although I knew that she wouldn’t be able to hear me, I started talking to her. I started saying the things that I never had the courage to say to her. i started saying the things that I thought I could always say later. I said sorry for all the things I have done. I told her how much I need her. I told her how much I love her. I poured my heart out even though I knew that saying all those things was useless. I never said those things when it still mattered. I never said those things even though I had numerous chances. And now it was already too late. I couldn’t stand seeing her that way anymore, I wanted to remember her the way she was. I was crying so hard as I said goodbye. I kissed her once again, and I touched her face for the very last time. I decided to go home and just wait. I didn’t know how I would react when they would finally tell us that the effects of the medications have worn off, and that she has expired. Before I went out the door, I looked at her again, and tears started to well up immediately. That woman who was lifeless on that bed couldn't possibly be her. I closed the door behind me. That was the last time I saw her alive.

I drove around for a while, going around in circles, going nowhere. I was such a wreck. When I got home I took lots of Valium and after a few tablets, miraculously I was able to sleep. I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing. It was my dad. I knew why he was calling. I answered the phone and he told me the news. He told me that I was the only one they were waiting for before they transferred her to the morgue. I told him that I won’t be coming back to the hospital. i already said goodbye to her earlier, and I was just going to stay home. Then I hung up. I took a couple more tablets, and I was able to cry myself to sleep.

The next few days were surreal. Somehow each day passed by, despite the fact that I felt so detached from everything. Every time I find myself alone, I find myself crying. I always find myself coming back to her room, reliving our daily routine, opening her cabinet and touching her clothes, burrowing my face in her pillows, taking comfort in her scent, looking at all those pictures in those photo albums that she treasured more than anything else. I would always find myself sitting on her chair, lying on her bed, crying as I’m staring into nothing. I was stuck in that stage of denial. I kept telling myself it was all just a bad dream and it couldn’t possibly be real. I kept hoping that someone would wake me up. I just couldn’t continue moving forward without her.

Then came the regrets. We have become too complacent. Every time she got admitted at the hospital, no matter how bad her condition was prior to admission, everything was always back to the way it was by the time she got discharged. We got so used to all the times that we had to push her wheelchair, that we had to give her medications and administer oxygen, that we had bring her to the hospital... it has all become routine, and we barely noticed that her condition was indeed worsening. By the time we had that sense of urgency, it was already too late. I didn’t want to spend last Christmas at home simply because I needed a change. I was so sick and tired of our family traditions. Spending the holidays with the whole family was important to her, but I needed a change and that was more important to me. If I only knew that I would never get to experience our yearly holiday traditions again, if I only knew I would never get to spend Christmas with her again, I would have chosen to stay home and made the most out of it. If I only knew that she only had a few months left to live when I came home last February, I would've spend more time with her. I would have spent most of my days just sitting beside here. Doing anything. Doing nothing. If only I knew that the first few days of June were the last days of her life, I would have chosen to spend more time with her. I would have stayed at the hospital longer, I would have talked to her more, because I know that the simple act of talking to her keeps her loneliness away. Just having someone beside her gave her comfort. Having a loved one by her side at all times made her happy. If I only knew that the Saturday afternoon we’ve spent together would’ve been our last afternoon together, I would’ve said a whole lot more, instead of the usual things that I say to her. I would have told her how grateful I was, I would have said thanks for everything that she has ever done for me. I would have asked for forgiveness and understanding. i would have said sorry for all the wrongs that i have done, and i would have said sorry for not doing enough. I would have told her for the very first time how much I loved her. I would have told her that I loved her so much, and that she means more than anything in the world to me. Saying all those words to her would have made her so happy… now I’ll never get another chance to tell her the things that I should’ve told her a long time ago.

Talks regarding financial concerns simply pissed me off. She wasn’t even buried yet and my father was concerned about our future expenses. About taxes that we had to pay. About the family’s future sources of income. About what little money she had left. He was expecting so much more, and with her numerous hospitalizations, what was left of her savings was only enough to give her the funeral she wanted. He wanted to cut costs, but he had no control over her money. I did. It was her money, she worked hard for it. No one should reap the benefits of her hard work but her. She never used her money for herself unless she really needed to. It was about time someone used her money for her. I almost emptied her savings account. I wanted to give her the funeral that she wanted. She deserved nothing but the best. If only she was still capable of appreciating it all, if only she could still see the things we have done to honor her memory, then it would be a little more comforting.

I knew that I love her so much. But I didn’t know up to what extent I was willing to go just to show my love to her. When someone had the gall to disrupt her funeral procession and show utter disrespect, I beat up that guy badly. I saw red, and I was capable of murder. If my cousins didn’t stop me, I would have killed him. I didn’t care about consequences, all I knew at that time that she did not deserve such treatment. Anyone who dared disrespect her had to pay the price, even with his own life. For a while the loneliness had subsided. It was overcome with rage. All that I felt was anger.

When I boarded the plane last Tuesday, I thought I already had my emotions under control. But by the time the plane landed, I remembered how I would always call her immediately as soon as I’ve landed. Just to tell her I’m safe, and for me to know how she was feeling. And the tears started to flow again, I just couldn’t hold them back. And even though I’m so far away, a lot of little things that I do, a lot of little things that I see all around me still remind me of her, and that just aggravates the loneliness that I am feeling. Everyday, I still feel that I am simply watching the world from a different plane. I feel like an outsider, simply looking in. I still feel as if I am dreaming. Everyday, I’m still hoping, that the past 2 weeks is all an illusion. And when I wake up tomorrow, somehow, everything will be back to the way things were.

What makes it harder to let go is the knowledge that she didn’t want to leave yet. There were so many things that she still wanted to do, there were so many things that she still wanted to witness. During our talks for the past few months, she knew that she didn’t have long to live. She was in and out of the hospital for the past three years, and I knew that she was aware of her current state of health. she told me that she wanted to live to see the day when my two cousins would finish college, because apparently, she was also paying for their education. When we talked about my plans for the year, she told me that she wanted to see the day that I would become a very successful doctor. When I became a doctor she felt such immeasurable pride and happiness. And when I become successful, she told me that it would only make her happier because she would live to see the day that I am already able to stand on my own. Two weeks ago, we were talking about plans for her 80^th birthday this coming October. She wanted a huge celebration because it was her 80^th. I told her to go for it since I knew it would make her very happy, and she’d be using her hard earned money anyway. It was about time that she used that money for herself. We already contacted an event planner, we already chose a venue, and she already contacted someone to design her dress. That was the last time I saw her smile. She was looking forward to a lot of things. She wanted to hold on. A few minutes before I found her in a state of cardiac arrest, I was able to convince her to go back to the hospital. I gave her a lot of reasons to go back, and I thought that nothing I could say would convince her otherwise. Then I told her that I would be leaving for two months, and if she stayed at our house in her present condition, she might already be gone by the time I got back. And I don’t know how I would be able to live without her in my life. i just wouldn't be able to bear it.

A few seconds after I said that, she finally agreed. She told me she wanted to go back to the hospital.

Up until the very last moments of her life, it was still all about me.

She never got the chance to tell me that she was leaving, and I know for a fact that she wouldn’t want to leave that way… unceremoniously and haphazardly… without warning and without proper closure.

My grandma never got the chance to say goodbye. That’s why I find it so hard to say goodbye to her as well.

In Retrospect

Nothing like driving on the freeway to keep my mind off things. I don't need a particular destination. I just drove around, moving in circles. It was just me, my car, and the road... with deafening music on full blast on the radio, I was all by myself, completely oblivious to the outside world.

Everything has been relatively normal these past few days. I can function perfectly, in fact no one would have known that my grandfather recently passed away unless i told them so. It's just that during those times that I find myself alone, the littlest things bring tears to my eyes. The music coming from the radio, old pictures on our family albums, even eating dinner alone makes me think of the person who used to sit on the seat to my left... I know I've been acting a little too melodramatic these past few days, but he's the first person that I used to see on a regular basis that has passed away... never mind if we weren't really that close when I was growing up, never mind if we had countless arguments, never mind if we didn't really get along during my younger years, and never mind if he's not really my grandfather, at least biologically speaking... every time i think about him, especially how he looked on his last few days, i just couldn't help it. I just couldn't help but cry.

I have come to realize that I'm such a lousy doctor--- at least when it comes to my family. I never wanted to be a doctor, and the only way for me to resign myself to this fate is by viewing this profession as simply work--- i derive no pleasure nor personal satisfaction from it... it's just a way to make ends meet. Thus, for the past couple of years I strived to separate work from home, because home is the place where i find refuge, where I can be away from the things that I do not want to do. So when any of them would ask me questions about their health or about anything medically related, i get annoyed. I would just think of the simplest, shortest answer possible just to get it over and done with. When i'm in such a bad mood, I simply answer i don't know. Most of the time, i wouldn't even exert any effort at all, but when it comes to other people, I can give a definite answer, and even give them proper treatment. At work some would laud my performance, but at home i turn out to be one of the lousiest.

I know that they expect me to have answers regarding their health related concerns, seeing that I'm the only physician who's readily available to them, but I still get annoyed by the fact that they fail to see that sometimes, I just want to be completely free from anything medically related. There are times when I just need a break from it all. Sometimes, I just need to be free to do the things I want to do, and be away from the things that I feel I am only forced to do out of necessity.

Right after graduation, I failed to recognize that my grandmother had varicella zoster infection despite its classic presentation... as a licensed physician, that was the first negligence on my part. And during her repeated bouts of congestive heart failure, i would find myself at a loss even though I have treated dozens of patients who were brought to the emergency room and presented with the same condition. i seldom check on her numerous medications and insulin shots... who knows if she hasn't been taking the correct dosages. And when it came to my grandfather, i used to hate all those conversations we had during dinner when he kept on asking me all those health related questions as soon as I get home from work. When i'm in such a bad mood, I simply answer with a yes or no. He never had much trust in doctors, that's why he often relied on folk medicine. Looking back, maybe there were many instances when he would have opened up his mind to the legitimate practice of medicine, and i was the one who was capable of opening his mind... yet all those times, I chose to brush him off. Who knows, if he had consulted a doctor early enough, his cancer could have been diagnosed in an early stage, and he could still be alive today.

When i came back home, I noticed that he had lost a lot of weight... his clothes seemed a little too large even though they were old. And he was telling me that he felt very weak, and he was asking me for a possible cause. When I am presented with a patient who complains of weakness accompanied by weight loss, i would immediately suspect cancer. But in his case, i wonder why it didn't occur to me as quickly. And looking back on his last night, I knew that he was suffering from respiratory distress and he was obviously having a very difficult time, i didn't really do anything. i should've gotten my grandmother's oxygen tank when his ran out even though she didn't want to share--- she didn't need it at that time, she just wants oxygen to help her fall asleep... I should've given some analgesic to take away the pain... and I should've demanded that he be brought back to the hospital even though it was agreed upon that we'll just wait for him to expire at home, because he was clearly in respiratory distress and to simply wait for him to die wasn't the right thing to do... I had the opportunity to do all those things, but I didn't. Because when I'm inside our house, i choose to be crippled... i choose to be incapable, unreliable, useless.

i found myself outside the mausoleum. Aside from the wind blowing softly, everything was still. It was locked from the inside, so i just stood outside for a few minutes. Maybe unconsciously, i knew it was where I was headed. i didn't really know why i went there. I knew all that's left inside is just a body... cold and lifeless, undergoing the slow process of decomposition. I doubt if i still believed in the myth of the afterlife, and I knew that any word i would say couldn't really reach anyone. But just for the sake of it, with the wind and the earth as my sole witnesses, I said sorry... for all the things i have done, and for all the things I haven't done.

Thunderstorms

I used to think that i was over this phase...

I used to think that it was just a phase, something that i had to go through, until it's over and done with...

after so many years, it rears its ugly head once again...

Ever since I got home I've been in a state of depression. Either I'm pissed off about something, or i just feel so lonely for no apparent reason. That is my baseline.

I've been that way for years... my emotions just fluctuate every now and then, but these fluctuations never veer far from the baseline.

But since I got back i've felt so much worse. The fact that i'm not doing much work has given me time to reflect on the things i've done and haven't done for the past couple of years, and my realizations have been so depressing.

And with the recent death of my grandfather, together with the feelings of guilt that came along with it... it has led me to an even deeper state of depression.

During dinner, I began to notice things... and i began to look at my family with disdain. How my grandmother's bad traits have been showing. How my mother appears to be some sort of a user. How my brother doesn't give a f*ck about anything at all. How everyone could act so happy, just like that, as if nothing has happened, as if nothing has changed. And of course, how my father can piss me off with such ease as always.

At the dinner table i remained quite. I felt as if i was about to burst. I kept playing with my food, just as I did when I was a kid whenever I didn't feel like eating... while they went about with their idle conversation.

i just want to go away. i just want this stage in my life to end. If i stay here for long, I will surely go crazy.

And that's when I thought about doing something drastic. That's when I thought about the things that filled my thoughts those many years ago. back when I wanted an easy way out. Back when I would let irrational thoughts cloud all logical thinking.

But I knew all i had to do was take a drink. Calm down and take one drink. It always pulls me away from my state of melancholia, albeit temporarily. I just fear that the day might come when I'll grow tired of such temporary relief...

Because as of now, i'm so tired of my life as it is.

Epilogue

If someone asked me a few days ago questions pertaining to death, I would have answered in a nonchalant manner. It’s not something I’m afraid of. It's not something that saddens me. It’s part of the natural order of things, and death will come to everyone sooner or later. I have encountered so many deaths in my few years of medical practice, that I have become desensitized with the whole idea of death. Except for a few patients that I have been seeing regularly for a few weeks or even a few months, I have no deep emotional attachment to most of the dying patients that I have encountered. Once they’ve taken that last breath, I would check for definite signs and pronounce them dead in a very systematic manner. After one patient, I could easily proceed to the next. After all, once a person has died all that remains is a lifeless body, made up of organ systems that have simply ceased to function.

But that was me yesterday. This is how I am now. After more than a month in the hospital, we finally decided to bring our grandfather home. I often advice relatives of terminally ill patients to just bring the patient home and let him spend the last remaining days of his life in a familiar environment together with his loved ones, even though I absolutely had no idea of what it would feel like, how it can be both physically and emotionally draining. Such a recommendation looks so good on paper that I thought it was also the best decision to make with regard to my grandfather. The basic necessities were bought, and one room in our house was renovated to make it look like a hospital room, complete with all the basic equipment. Two private nurses were hired, so that means less work for us. However, more pressure was set on me because I was the one that they would call whenever there were problems. Everything was manageable though, and my grandfather seemed to be getting stronger, even though I knew that was quite impossible. He spends less time sleeping, he can carry conversations again, and the manifestations of psychosis seemed to have lessened a bit. But I knew in the back of my head that whatever sort of reprieve that we were experiencing back then was only temporary. Back in March i thought he wouldn’t even reach April… the fact that we were able to bring him home was nothing short of a miracle.

It was on Tuesday morning when things took their turn for the worse. He barely woke up again, and I wasn’t able to have any decent conversations with him again. Around lunch time I noticed that he was gasping for breath. He was trying to tell me a lot of things, but all that I could make out was something like… he was having a very hard time, he was finding it difficult to breath, and he wants to give up. Oxygen was administered, and after a few minutes he fell asleep. I knew back then that in an ideal setting, he should be intubated already. But it was agreed upon that we would just wait for the inevitable at home. Bringing him back to the hospital wouldn’t do much good anyway. And if it could add a few more days in his life, he may not even be aware of those extra few days anymore. It would probably just prolong the agony.

After midnight I went back to his room... though he was asleep he was obviously in respiratory distress. He woke up when I tried to listen to his lung sounds, and he just looked at me without saying I word. I wasn’t even sure if he recognized me. I smiled and said everything’s okay, and then he fell asleep again. It was on Wednesday morning when the nurses called me up again to check on him. He was lying on his bed as always, he looked exactly the way he was each time I checked on him on most mornings. Except this time, I felt no pulse. I couldn’t hear any heartbeat. There was no spontaneous breathing. Both of his pupils were fixed and dilated, and all his extremities felt very cold. I’ve been so used to the sight of death that I felt nothing at first, but when everyone started crying I felt tears welling up. I knew that it was coming and I thought that I was already prepared for it, but it seemed as if I wasn’t. I tried so hard to fight those tears but ultimately it was a losing battle. A few hours ago I witnessed him gasping for breath, a few hours ago he looked me straight in the eye and I told him that everything was okay even though we both knew that it was not. And now that he has expired, I was the one who would pronounce him dead.

I knew the exact moment when an endotracheal tube should have been placed. I knew the exact moment when vasopressors should have been started. I knew the exact moment when we had to do CPR and when those intravenous injections of epinephrine could have helped... and I wondered if I should have done those things instead of doing nothing. But looking back, those things wouldn’t be able to do much good anyway. All those life saving measures are only temporary and cannot sustain life in the long run. Doing so would only prolong his agony. I just wished I could have given something to have made it easier. I didn’t even give him anything for the pain. We ran out of oxygen during the wee hours of the morning and there was nothing I could do to help him breathe. Looking back, I just wish that he wasn’t in pain or in any form of agony. I just wish that he didn’t experience any form of hardship. I just wish that the last remaining minutes of his life didn't prove to be difficult for him... and I wish that he died with a sense of fulfillment, without any physical nor emotional burden... I hope that he died peacefully.

It has been a long day and I haven’t even slept yet. He had specific instructions that he did not want to have a wake. He just wants a short service in church, and then we should proceed to his burial afterward. Everyone had to do his part for all the necessary arrangements, and with everyone’s help, we managed to pull it off. We picked up some formal clothes in his closet, thinking of what he would want to wear... and what would look best on him. At the church, after mass, when we all took turns at dousing his coffin with holy water, I couldn't even look at his body without breaking in tears. By 6 PM, we were already at the cemetery back at his home town. The sun was setting on the horizon and the wind was blowing softly as we finally laid him to rest. Everything was so surreal, I could have sworn that it was all just a dream. The atmosphere was serene and for me, it was close to perfection. If he was still alive, I knew that he would be happy with what we all saw. We did exactly as he wanted, and taking all things into consideration, i would say that we did a good job.

We got back home at around 8 PM. Everywhere I looked, there are things that reminded me of him. I got so used to his daily routine through the years, that I would half expect him to show up. 8 PM... that’s the same time everyone usually gets home from work. That’s also the same time he goes up to his room upstairs to sleep, and we would see him on his way up and we would all kiss him good night. At 6AM, I would always expect to see him eating breakfast, and by 8AM I would expect to see him running around the garden as I’m leaving for work, doing his exercise routine. By 11 AM if I’m at home, I would expect him to call me, asking me to join him for lunch. At 5:30 PM he eats dinner, and he would always ask me if it was really all right to take that one shot of brandy after dinner so that it would help him fall asleep. Everyday, at those specific times, I would expect to see him going through his daily routine... his routine that I took for granted and never gave much attention to because I have become so used to it... and after a while reality would set in and I would begin to remember that he's gone... i would realize that i won't be seeing him anymore. I would realize that he'll no longer be there.

I entered my grandparent’s bathroom and the smell of pomade admixed with his aftershave lingered in the air as always. That was the same scent that I’ve smelled as I kissed him on the cheek that last time while he was still confined in the hospital. In the kitchen there are all sorts of herbal medicines in the cupboard... he was never fond of “manufactured” medicines, and we always had minor arguments regarding all those stuff that he used to take. In the garage his car is parked next to mine, that vintage Mercedes Benz that he refused to give up no matter what, despite the many offers from vintage collectors. I would always remember the distinct smell of its old leather interior, and how I always found it embarrassing to ride that car when we were in elementary school because all the other kids rode in cool and modern cars. When I went upstairs, I saw the makeshift gym that he has filled with equipment bought from those home shopping channels on TV, and I would always remember how he tells me I’m wasting money with my gym membership because he thought everything that I needed was already there. In the living room there’s still that Lazy Boy chair, where he sits all day just watching TV or sleeping when he was already too tired to move around the house... and now it's just an empty chair. Inside the makeshift office I saw the words “dada 56 years old” scribbled on the wall. I wrote those words directly below his picture on that wall back when I was 5, to commemorate his 56th birthday. My dad said that dada was how I called my grandfather when I was 2, and somehow it just stuck. Me and my siblings call him such, even to this very day. Scattered on the desk, I see lots of empty billing forms for the tenants in his apartments. Years ago he taught us this weird formula that he made up which was needed to arrive at the proper total billing. He said we needed to learn all that because we will be the ones who would manage his business when he’s gone. During summer he would bring my brother and me to help him do those basic repairs because when he’s gone we are the one’s who would take care of his business... it’s funny that now, both of us would want nothing to do with it. I went up to his room and I remember that talk we had last November, when he said that there’s nothing greater than remaining in one’s own country and serving his own people... and I answered that there’s no money to be earned here, that’s why I want to search for greener pastures. I can’t afford to be a hero or a saint after all. When I got home back in February, that time we talked in his room was also the last time he slept there, because he grew tired of going up and down the stairs already. His body wouldn’t allow him even if he wanted to. He was asking me a lot of questions about his health, and I had to cut it short because I still had plans for the evening. After that he grew too sick. That was the last meaningful conversation that we had.

All this familiarity has resulted into such a huge emotional investment. That’s the reason why his lifeless body is so different from all the rest. That's the reason why reality refuses to set in. I kept crying as I was holding his hand yesterday, wishing for him to still be able to feel my touch for one last time. I wish I could have said something better that last time we spoke, and if I only knew that yesterday was his last, I would have spent all day beside him instead of being holed up in my room studying. There are things that we couldn’t change, and there are things that we couldn’t take back, no matter how hard we try. He has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember, and will all those things that I wish I should have done still in the back of my mind, it makes it so hard to let go. I kept holding his hand for more than an hour since he passed away, denying the fact that the hand I was holding was no longer the hand of my grandfather. It was just a hand attached to another lifeless body, made up of worn out organ systems that have finally ceased to function...a lifeless body that has finally succumbed to the disease... and nothing I could do can ever change that fact. Nothing I could do can ever bring him back.

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.

Near Death

You never can be fully prepared for the things that can happen in life. Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out, just when you think you know the whole system inside out, something completely unexpected would happen that would literally shake your very foundations.

Yesterday started out like any other day. I had the day off, so I thought of going out, maybe watch a movie. One of my closest friends, whom I haven’t seen for years, recently brought up the idea of us meeting up so that we could catch up. I thought yesterday would be a perfect opportunity. Watch a movie, then maybe coffee afterwards. The movie was okay, nothing exceptional. Instead of having coffee, we went to a bar instead --- which was fine since I’m not really a coffee person. I had a few drinks, yes--- but I was far from drunk. I guess I was a bit tipsy, but not to the point where I lose control of my senses. I could drive home in one piece with a whole lot more alcohol in my system.

When it was almost 4 AM, we decided that it was time to leave. We were on our way to her house when it happened. I admit I drive pretty fast, but during the wee hours of the morning, driving at such speed seems pretty commonplace. I hit the accelerator so that I could go faster, then just when we approached the curve ahead, the breaks didn’t function. I don’t know how many times I stepped on the break, but it just didn’t take. That part of the road was curved, and it can be difficult to see oncoming traffic. There was a vehicle approaching, I steered and lost control, and eventually hit a concrete post--- hard. Upon impact, the hood of my car burst into flames. Maybe it was reflex… I steered the vehicle again, even when I could not see where I was going because of all the flames and the broken windshield. And then we stopped. It all happened so fast, pieces of my life flashed in an instant. Everything was so surreal. For one moment, I entertained the possibility that it was all just a horrible dream... it had to be. When the vehicle stopped, I kept thinking of what should’ve been, what could’ve been… what stupid mistake I made, the exact point of miscalculation… what I did, what I shouldn't have done, what I should’ve done instead… if only I could turn back time and fix this huge mess. I seemed to be okay, and so was my friend, although she seemed a little dazed. Thank goodness the airbags were functioning properly, else we would’ve been seriously injured. I went out of the car, helped my friend out as she was complaining of pain in her chest. When we were at a safe distance, I went back and tried to salvage whatever I can get. I grabbed my ipod, which wasn’t really necessary since it was already busted beyond possible repair, as I’ve discovered later. My car, and my ipod… my two most priced material possessions, now gone.... just like hat. In an instant. I looked for my friend’s cellphone amidst the litters of shattered glass. I grabbed the car keys, which was pretty stupid. What would I use it for? I got blisters on my hand in the process because the fire was already at the dashboard by then. I tried to open the trunk to get some of my medical supplies stored back there, but it wouldn’t open. Trying to open the trunk manually with the keys instead of using the electronic system didn't occur to me. I tried to get more stuff, when someone shouted the car could explode any minute.

The explosion never happened. Flames just engulfed the whole car slowly. I was enveloped with immense sadness as I watched the car burn, as if a part of me has just died, as if a part of my life has just been taken away. By the time the firemen came, there was nothing left that can be salvaged. Just a heap of dust, rubber, and metal.

My friend was rushed to a nearby hospital. Save from several bruises, she was otherwise fine. As for me, I had several lacerations and abrasions. Some needed to be sutured but I just dressed the wounds. My neck hurts, which could mean a whiplash injury, but I did not go to a hospital to have x-rays done just to be sure. Pretty stupid management from someone who’s a doctor. It’s even more preposterous since I’ve rotated in trauma for 3 months, and I know how to manage such cases properly. Doctors really make the worst patients, don't they?

It was all over the news. First the morning news, then the footage was repeated on primetime. I hate those stupid camera men. I was told they wouldn’t show my face so I agreed to be interviewed. Most shots were indeed taken from my back, but some shots showed the side of my face! Plus, my name was repeated several times! The fact that I was a doctor was even emphasized! The whole day, my cellphone has been ringing non stop, I kept receiving endless text messages… I know these people are just concerned so I shouldn’t get miffed… but a lot of the calls are from people I’m not even close to. I can’t help but wonder if they are really concerned, or they just want to hear the news first hand. Calls from real friends--- that was heart warming. I couldn’t help but actually feel loved and wanted when one friend actually cried when she thought I had died that night. The breaking news that morning was vague after all, with no word on the status of the car’s passengers. Watching myself on TV was so embarrassing, I wanted to hide under a rock! The car agent called me, saying the car would be replaced since it was insured. But my dad doesn’t want to settle. He wants to sue. He said that break failure in a relatively brand new car is unheard of. Cars shouldn’t burst into flames upon impact. The fact that these things happened proves that the car was faulty in the first place. The minor problems we’ve seen in the past few months--- faulty power windows and various clicking sounds, supports this theory. Still, i don't really want to sue. It's not like they deliberately sabotaged the break system. The manufacturers couldn't have possibly predicted it would happen. No one wanted such a thing to happen. And the company was kind enough to voluntarily offer a settlement... but what the heck do I know about the country's legal system? It's a good thing the doors didn’t jam, and good thing the airbags were functioning, else we could’ve been trapped inside and burned alive.

But you know what’s disturbing? If I was driving alone, it would’ve been fine with me if everything ended that night... and I'm waaaay over my suicidal phase. I'm not thinking of taking my own life intentionally, but whether or not I've died that night, I wouldn't really care. The fact that I had a friend riding with me shook me from such apathetic self indulgence. I could never deliberately put a friend in harms way, and I could never live with the fact that a friend has been harmed as a result of something that I have done--- be it intentionally or accidentally. I would gladly give up my life for the life of a friend, especially since I have little regard for mine. If I was driving alone, and I lost the breaks, it would’ve been fine if I died upon impact, or slowly burned alive as I’m enveloped in flames, thinking about what a pathetic life this has been. There’s not much I’d like to cling to anyway… and among those few things, none of those would make me dwell on regret and dismay if I ended up losing them. Along with happiness and hope, all problems and pain would disappear in an instant. As for people talking or discovering the skeletons in my closet... let them talk, let them find out. It's not as if i'd still be able to give a damn once nothingness has reclaimed me. In just one instant, everything would go away. But with dumb luck, I’m still alive. I'll still be able to live through the coming days. As sure as the sun would still rise tomorrow, I’ll still be continuously bombarded with problems in this life.

Just my luck, I've been given a second chance at life.