Of things left unsaid.

02Jun10

My maternal grandmother died three weeks ago.  She was 86.

It started out  with a simple infection.  Her symptoms were fever, elevated WBC and typical bacterial infection presentations.  The doctors concluded it was an ordinary infection, prescribed antibiotics and went their merry way.  At 12AM, May 11, she was rushed to the hospital. Delusional, weak, incoherent. At 3PM that same day, she went into multi-organ failure, starting with her kidneys.  At 4:26pm she flatlined, and was declared dead.

I felt sad for her going that way. She had 7 kids. When it was time for her to go, she only had one of her sons there. I was supposed to be there earlier, but I didn’t make it in time.  When I saw her, the nurses were removing the medical instruments from her. I was there when  they were dressing her up. I was there when they were wrapping her in that sanitary wrapping plastic that was required.  I couldn’t take it. But I couldn’t cry. No, somebody had to be strong.  It  was just me, an aunt, and an uncle there.

The following hours were like a whirlwind.  She was taken to the funeral parlor. My aunt and uncle had to go home.  I followed her to the funeral parlor.  That’s when relatives came pouring in. With them, the questions came.  What happened? what did the doctors say? all those question.  I couldn’t answer them. nor did I want to. They were supposed to be the ones with the information.  She was their mother.  Where were they when this was all happening.   I wanted to remind them that they were not there.

I had to check on her.  The embalming was done.  Somebody had to check that her make-up’s right. Her hair done the way she would’ve wanted, thing like that.  Somebody had to do it.  My aunts wouldn’t. My uncles’ excuse was they didn’t know shit about make-up.  Well, somebody had to do it.  That’s where I broke down. Seeing her there,  seeing her lifeless, serene face, realizing that she’s gone.  I cried.  God, did I cry.

I can’t really say that I’m close to her.  We’ve always had a communication gap between us. Her not understanding filipino all that well, and me with the chinese speaking ability of an 8 year old. What I have with her is countless hours of silence alone in the car.  I drive her around manila on the weekends.  Seems that I’m the only grandkid that actually does so. But I’d like to believe that we’ve formed a bond.

The next week was hectic, with relatives coming over from abroad.  My mom and sisters still stuck on a cruise. It took my mind off of the loss.  There was just too much to be done.

The most jarring thing I witnessed was when my mom arrived.  It was surreal.  I’ve never seen her cry like that. To break down like that. My younger sister said that she saw her like that once, when my brother left.  But that was quickly replaced with anger.  This time, there was no anger. All I saw, all I felt from her was pain.

The whole experience was an eye-opener for me.  I learned of a lot of things that was kept hidden from us.  That were brushed under a carpet.  Basically, you can take my family’s story, and make it the plot for Mano Po XX.

It was surreal. The realizations that came.  The changes that’s happening. It took my grandmother’s death for things to change.

Creepy story:

My grandfather died 15 years ago.  10 years ago, my grandmother was asked by a friend to visit one of those spirit channel people.  My grandmother wasn’t all that interested, but being the lakwatsera she was, she decided to go.  During the session, the spirit guide/channeler turned to my grandmother and said “(insert grandfather’s name here), said that it’s not time for you yet, but he’ll pick you up when you’re 90. It’ll be quick”.  At the start of this post, I mentioned that she was 86.  We recomputed, according to the chinese calendar (which we use to celebrate my grandmother’s birthday) she was 90 when she died.  My grandfather’s 15th death anniversary was 2 weeks after she died.

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