Celebrating Death

When my grandfather from my mother’s side died years ago, he was cremated and his ashes were brought back to his hometown in Negros Occidental. My grandfather was already an American citizen at that time—he and my grandmother in fact had been living in the US with their green cards for several years already until the time of his death– but his children naturally decided that his final resting place should still be the land of his birth.

I remember that we immediately left for Negros shortly after hearing the sad news. My grandfather was quite fond of me and my siblings when we were kids so I have vivid memories of him when he and my grandmother used to visit us here in Cebu. I sorely missed him. We all missed him. But what surprised me when we arrived in Negros was that the mood wasn’t all that somber. I was re-acquainted with relatives I’ve hardly seen in years. There was rejoicing, as everyone celebrated the good life lived by my grandfather. One good thing that can be said about funerals is that they bring the whole clan together.

Two weeks ago I was in Manila for the funeral of my Tita Lilian. She was felled by Leukemia, after an agonizing but hard-fought battle. Only three months ago I was by her bedside at St. Luke’s hospital. That was the last time I saw her alive. By then she was only a shell of her former, lively self: gaunt, emaciated, and severely weakened, her body ravaged by cancer. I brought her gifts from my parents– a check from my father to help pay the mounting hospital bill, and a bead bracelet and prayer booklets from my mother. “Thank your mom and dad for me.” She gratefully whispered. She could barely talk. And in her condition, I could barely look at her.

I visited my Tita Lilian in the hospital a couple more times after that during my week-long stay in Manila. From time to time we would receive some good news that would lift our spirits: she was getting better; her body was becoming stronger; the chemotherapy was working, she was responding well to it; she was walking unaided, dancing even and she was eating well— and had requested for a pasta party; and she was finally discharged from the hospital, provided that she would still undergo her regular chemotherapy sessions.
But as quickly as she had recovered, she was rushed to the hospital again. She had to be placed in the Intensive Care Unit of St. Luke’s. She had water in her lungs; she had Pneumonia. It was all downhill after that.
When my father broke the news of Tita Lilian’s death to us, I was surprised that I didn’t cry at all. But when at last I saw her lying in a coffin, when it finally hit me that our doting and affectionate aunt with the fond laughter would never be with us again, and when I realized that family gatherings would never again be the same without her, the tears flowed.

We greeted Tita Lilian’s death with mourning and grief. But as with my grandfather’s death years ago, there was also rejoicing. I was re-acquainted with relatives I’ve hardly seen in years. We mourned the death of a loved one. We also celebrated the good life lived by a loved one.

One good thing that can be said about funerals is that they bring the whole clan together. One good thing that can be said about my Tita Lilian’s passing, is that she is loved and that she will be remembered.
Always.

(Originally posted on October 23, 2006)