Death.

Too morbid a topic huh?  The great leveler.  No matter how much we want to avoid it, death comes.  I am reminded of Woody Allen's quote:  "I'm not afraid of death.  I just don't want to be there when it happens."  

Those stupid theme writing compositions during my grade school years has continually placed me in a predicament.  "Class, after the All Saints Day holidays, write something about your experiences at the cemetery," the teacher would say.  Problem was, we do not go to the cemetery.  At that point, no one in our family was dead yet.  Quite an amusing situation.  I would just wing it, putting my creative mind into use.

1970 was the first death in our family.  My grandmother died after a long bout with diabetes.  The wails you hear when someone dies is exceptionally frightening.  You just know that something really bad happened.  That was what I heard when I rushed to my lola's room that day in November.  When she was interred, I heard those very same wails and somehow you just don't forget it.

I was very close to my grandfather.  He used to drive us, my sister and I, to school everyday in his trusty old jeep.  Quite a colorful character my lolo was.  He deserves a separate post here.  And that's why it hurt so much when he was diagnosed with liver cancer.  Ah, my first bout with those terms:  carcinoma, chemo, etc.  How do you process all that at 12 years old?  The fragility of life?  The inevitability of death?  These were for the grown-ups.  The operation, the months long stay at the hospital, the painful visits to my lolo's room as you see him deteriorate with each passing day, how do you cope with that?  He died one early morning December, 1972, after 2 or 3 months at San Juan de Dios.  By that time, all our tears were already spent.  The abominable wailing was never heard at the hospital room.  We all just said goodbye to our beloved patriarch.  I miss him badly.

Cancer will visit us again in January 1996 when my father was diagnosed with osteosarcoma or bone cancer.  Those terms again.  And it has metastasized, the doctor said.  Another new term.  Coming to grips with my father's sickness at 35 years of age was different.  This time, it was about the endless bills.  And the bad thing was, even with all the expenses, it was a losing battle.  After a month, he was gone.  The whole ordeal made a wreck out of my mom who was nearly hospitalized herself.  Looking back, I was not that close to my father.  He was closer to my two brothers.  But he was damn proud of me when I passed the UPCAT.  He was, however, my constant.  Like in an equation, he was always there.  I miss him too.

My mom died last December from colon cancer.  It was the most painful ordeal I had to go through.  I don't want to write about it.  She's gone now.  I miss her so bad.

And so the cycle goes on.  Going by the records, I'm next.  I'm reminded of a James Taylor song:

And when I die, I don't want no coffin.
I've thought about it all too often.
Just strap me in behind the wheel,
And bury me with my automobile.

But I don't have a car, man.  And I won't fit inside my guitar case.  I know.  Those XXXL black plastic garbage bags will do.  Garbage in, garbage out.  Hope it's on a Thursday because that's garbage collection day here in our neighborhood.

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