On my train ride to work this morning, I received a cellphone call
from my mom that my Grandfather had passed away in the hospital around 5:30am.
For the rest of that train ride I was unable to hold back the tears for he was
the man raised me from childhood to manhood and had done so with so much love.
I saw him last Saturday with one of my cousins and I recalled him asking me to
take him home. I went to the nurses' station to find out when he was to be
released and discovered that he was to be held at least until Tuesday for
observation. Although I was powerless to grant his last wish, somehow it seemed
like he knew that these might be the last moments for him on Earth and somehow
he wanted to die at home surrounded by people who loved him.
He was in the hospital being treated for a urinary tract infection however,
and nothing severe like a heart attack or a stroke. Although he was aged and
fragile of health, he wasn't exactly on his death bed so it kind of took
everyone by surprise somewhat. If only I had an inkling that he may be passing
away the next morning I would have done my best to see him last Sunday and last
night as well and perhaps slept in his room the last night he was alive. He did
not deserve to die alone in a hospital, he should have been with someone whom he
loved and who loved him profoundly. Since he lost his ability to eat on his own
almost 4 years ago and had to be fed through a tube in his stomach, it was
obvious he was was dying a very slow death. Although part of me wishes I could
have done more, I know that the last several years of his life weren't exactly
the best in terms of his health and ultimately his suffering has ended and he
has moved on to a better place.
By the time I made it to work I was emotionally drained, so I sent an e-mail to my boss and let everyone else
know about the situation and that I would not be working that day to spend time
with the family and then proceeded to the hospital in the same room where he was
staying. Some of my family were
already present. From the look of his face, he appeared to have died peacefully in his sleep. His hand was
cold when I took it to mano, a Filipino tradition where you kiss or touch
the hand of your elder to your forehead as a sign of reverence and respect. Even
in death I felt it only right to do it one more time. My grandfather was a very
stoic and reserved man who always seemed to emanate a patriarchal aura.
Remembering the past few days, the past year even it is amazing how much he has
transformed. In the sunset of his life he has seemed to have grown softer and
much more light-hearted. For example, you would go there to cheer him up and
keep him company but somehow he turns it around and he's the one that winds up
brightening your day. It was� almost as if he had complete acceptance his
fate and the fact that his health would perhaps never improve, but ultimately he
did not allow the sorrow to overcome him in the twilight of his life despite the
constant failure of his body.
Looking at my own life there seems to be so much sorrow and death of those
whom I seem to care about the most. The easiest thing for me to do is to allow
myself to sink further into sadness. Looking at how my grandfather lived the
last years of his life however, I am somehow inspired. I don't want this event
to be a cause for sorrow and despair, rather I want my grandfather's influence
over me to be a positive one just like it has been for so long. I need to find
my happiness wherever it may be, I need to remember the best times with my
grandfather while he was still alive and hold those memories as a cause for
celebration, without forgetting that he will be missed in the most profound of
ways.
