PARADOXICAL

"There's a grief that can't be spoken. There's a pain goes on and on. Empty chairs at empty tables..."  

"I can't believe you're going. ... I can't believe this is goodbye."

I am reminded of these lines from the musicals "Les Miserables" and "Rent" respectively with the near-sudden death of my mother. 

I was a kind of grief I never knew before.

My mother died at a time of quickly successive sudden deaths. A few days before her time came, there was the death of a local music artist, then followed by a former LGU employee, an acquaintance of mine. Then an SK Kagawad reportedly committed suicide. Then the baby of an officemate died while he was being pulled out during birth. It was like death was all around me at the time.

I wish there's no such thing as death and dying, parents leaving you, grandparents leaving you, no one in the family leaving you.

***

I don’t know why. Am I too emotionally attached to her?

After all, I had lived a separate life from her for around 25 years and often alone; it was a good preparation for her eventual leaving. And yet, when it actually happened…

***

I didn’t expect that my mother would leave us at age 74—and I didn’t expect that it would be all too sudden too—unresponsive just two days after her hospitalization due to stroke.

My grandmother, her mother, lived until 94 years, although the last few years of her life were marred by on-and-off dementia, or is that Alzheimer’s? Too often, she could be heard talking to herself. She died eventually of heart attack after having bouts of difficulty of breathing for some days which came like a sign to us.

My mother was so health-conscious, in contrast. She avoided everything she believed was bad for her: too much of anything especially cholesterol, animal fat, salt, sugar… She had enough sun, physical activity, proper hydration, vitamins... Sometimes more than enough. Maybe too much even. She ate lots of vegetables, fruits, beans, lean meat, nuts, fish… she especially feared cholesterol—bad cholesterol from lard, beef, chicken – all the fatty delicious bits.

And yet…for what?

Despite all that deprivation and carefulness...

It is so sad. Oh, my poor, poor mother.

I was hoping—even expecting—she’d survive till her ’80s or even ’90s.

I's funny how I sometimes fantasized about her receiving her P100,000 cash grant from the government on her 100^th birthday.

***

Grieving-wise, I’ve been through the DABDA wringer, probably many times over. There was of course denial, anger, bargaining, depression, a bit of acceptance, but also frustration, regret…

Maybe we, her ignorant children, unknowingly ignored the signs?

Maybe we should have moved heaven and earth for her to have an executive checkup—a battery of medical tests? But that would surely cost us an arm and a leg.

Maybe her frequent urination at night was a sign?

Maybe her sudden vision loss in one eye was enough sign, but we were too ignorant and in denial?

Maybe her sudden dizziness one day was a sign?

Maybe even her frequent insomnia?

Should I feel guilty? Didn’t I ignore all of those, out of fear of the potential expenses?

***

But all of the above could be easily rationalized at the time.

For frequent urination at night, she must have eaten something high in sodium like tinapa and her body was just eliminating the excess.

Her sudden vision loss in one eye was diagnosed as cataract by the ophthalmologist. Why wasn’t it recognized as a red flag, an emergency situation?

Her latest blood test showed only a slight elevation of her uric acid.

As for insomnia, she always checked her phone in the dead of the night, disturbing her sleep. When she got dizzy, I personally took her blood pressure, and it read normal: 120/80.

I didn’t get alarmed enough to suspect the worst. Besides, she had a long history of getting dizzy for all sorts of reasons.

***

Whatever ailed her, it was treasonous, treacherous, traitorous.

The suddenness of it all was a shock.

On the day after she was rushed to the hospital, I prayed all the prayers I have in my thick collection of estampitas (prayer cards), but I guess it wasn't God's will to favor us with a special miracle at this time.

And when the ICU doctor asked our consent, we removed the tube that kept her artificially respiring for we didn't know how long. It felt like killing her willfully until her skin turned sallow. 

Amidst the relief at the thought of stopping the steady stream of bills that were mounting with each passing hour, I couldn't help but feel guilty at those last few minutes after our decision to give consent. Watching our mother's BP and heart rate drop to irreversible levels of 50 and below until she flatlined felt like murder. 

***

If I only knew it would be her last birthday in the last months of her life, especially the year before 2026, I would have made the celebration grander than usual, complete with a glow-up, a skin treatment or spa session, hair treatment, extra-special food, and other special treats.

No wonder her last few days were spent in one joyful and lively partying after another. At my cousin Gigi’s birthday. Another party with her colleagues at Personal Collection. Then another one at another relative’s affair.

***

You know what they say about death, and it is so true. “Una-unahan lang yan.” At the entrance of cemeteries, there’s this annoying reminder: “Ako ngayon, ikaw bukas.”

These thoughts didn’t ease the pain one bit.

But writing things down, I guess, helped.

That novena prayer in this prayer booklet certainly helped. There were certain lines there that felt like a healing balm.

Advice from friends were also helpful.

***

I thought I was done with grieving with her sudden passing, but no. The day of the burial would yet prove to be the saddest day of my life.

I woke up to steel myself for it--made anxious by what ifs. What if I couldn't take it and faint, collapse, or lose consciousness? What if I couldn't control my emotions? What if I couldn't take the heat and humidity, the eventual crowding, the loud wailings?

In my jittery condition, I forgot one important thing: take my maintenance medicine in the morning.

***

Good thing I survived. But the level of sadness would not wane for a number of days.

In Tagalog, I was "lupaypay" (feeling weak due to a mix of negative emotions) each time I was reminded of her. Since I lived with her, each corner of the house reminded me of her. Her favorite polka dot cup. The Correll cup I gave her as a gift. The two kitchen chairs where she collapsed. The plants and flowers she loved and that brought her delight. The framed photos of her. Her favorite songs. One of her favorite health food items. 

I shod tears of loss and longing each time I was reminded of her. Obviously, I wished she was still here.

One day, our suki mobile vendor at the gate asked whether I'd like to buy the three cucumbers she had left. Of course, I said yes out of habit. It was too late when I realized that the one person who was sure to eat those was already gone for several days. Then came the tears again.

To this day, I don't have the heart to see her bed in her room, much less to sleep on it. 

***

The day of interment was made even more downcast with my siblings and relatives bidding me farewell at home one by one. It felt like I was being left alone in life even more. I am lucky that a sibling and his family happen to live with me. It would've much harder on me if I was totally alone.

***

There's another thing I wish I wouldn't have to go through: the prospect of rummaging through her clothes and other personal belongings to determine what to do with them, whether to throw away, donate to someone willing to receive them, or what.

***

Pain upon pain. Hurt upon hurt... One time, I had the gumption to ask God whether He wished me to be like this. Whether this was some kind of punishment. I wondered where He was in the middle of everything.

But then I was made to recall how Jesus Himself wept at the death of Lazarus. 

There is nothing good about death when even God would weep at it.

***

I surveyed a number of people who had also lost their mother. 99% of them had a hard time like I did.

***

I remember how it was when my lola, my mother's mother, herself died many years ago. My journal entry on it reads: 

"Despite so many things I dislike about them, for the longest time I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea of my parents no longer being around." (It turns out this thought extends even to my grandparents.)

"With her leaving at the ripe age of well past 90, we in the family were all kind of mentally ready, but when she actually passed away after her heart eventually gave up on her, I still went through a mental-emotional anguish that I had never been through, and to think we were not that close."

"It's true what someone said -- we were not meant for death. This means that, all along, we were all meant for life, forever." 

***

Post-script: 

Something unusual happened a day after the burial rites. Truth be told, I half-expected something supernatural to happen like the usual 'paramdam,' but not like this: I woke up one day, for three straight days, and retired for the night, for at least two nights, smelling the distinct fragrance of dama de noche flowers around and inside our home. To repeat, in case you missed it, I smelled it at both night and day when the odor of the flower is supposed to be limited at night. 

While this can be readily explained away by the possible presence of such a plant in our vicinity--there was none that we were aware of. I repeat--there are no such plants within our vicinity until now, as far as I know.

So nothing can explain it away. What's more--nothing can explain why the same mysterious smell could be smelled as well in Pook ni Urduja Resort in faraway Brgy. Zone 2 where my sister and her children were billeted (because our humble abode couldn't accommodate a lot of people), and at another sister's place in another barangay, and later on, in my brother's place in faraway Sariaya, Quezon.

I was half-expecting the sudden emergence of strange butterflies or moths but there were none so far--until the day after her birthday on June 19 that is, when a moth I have never seen before emerged in her vegetable garden as I inspected and watered it. 

What happened instead was that a juvenile golden-bellied gerygone, whose song or call delighted my mother no end, suddenly turned up one night and flitted into the living room, the kitchen, and my room. We were able to catch it, but eventually released it outside in the terrace.