death and regrets
Hubby and I just got back from my grandmother's funeral in the village where I was born. We went last Monday on B's motorbike prayerfully hoping that we will be able to get there without too much 'action' or 'drama' along the way. We left at half past 9 and arrived at 12:30PM. Being the careful person that he is, my hubby asks me to walk when we get to a portion of the road that has deep ruts (he calls it Fill-in-the-blanks)or those parts of 75 degrees ascent with loose gravel (more like boulders) :). It was easier going up than coming down. We only fell once on a muddy part of the road going up, but when we came down, the bike skidded a lot of times and I fell majorly three times. No major damage though, just a painful butt, and purple bruises on my legs.
In the Kalanguya tradition, death is not only a time of mourning but of family (clan) reunion as well. Relatives who reside in far areas usually come home to the ancestral home to be with the family and see the dead relative for the last time.
As of today, we only had three deaths in our immediate family. My mom's younger brother who was shot to death by a murderer, and another uncle who died of cardio-vascular accident, and now, my grandmother who died of acute kidney infection and maybe old age too. I could not fail to notice that the mood in these three instances of deaths were different. During my murdered uncle's funeral, there were lots of tears-- tears both because of sadness and anger. When my other uncle died, I was not there because that was the time when I was still recuperating from a surgery. This time, I noticed that my uncles and aunts and my mom were not very sad although after the burial, I heard my two youngest aunts that they were feeling weird... Tita M said she feels like she's gonna go home and find her mother there needing someone to fix her hair. Maybe because they are satisfied that their mother had lived her life, and it's better that way than watching her suffer.
As for me, the illness that had befallen my grandmother came as a shock. I took it for granted that she will still be alive for a few more years. I've always wanted to write all the stories -- fables, legends, and factual World War II stories that she used to tell us (my cousins and myself) when we were little. I have plans of going to her with a digital recorder to record all the stories she could remember. So when she fell ill and I visited her at the hospital and I saw that she was deteriorating really fast, I was sort of awakened from my dream--that she'll be around for a few more years. Then I arrived at one of my uncle's house in the village, saw the wooden coffin, then it dawned on me that I will never be able to record any story from her again. I looked back at all the Saturdays and Sunday afternoons when I opted to watch TV rather than go to her and listen to her stories, and I could almost hit myself.
Now, my grandfather is still alive, but he also can no longer speak because his gum cancer has spread into his throat. And he'll be gone soon too...
In the Kalanguya tradition, death is not only a time of mourning but of family (clan) reunion as well. Relatives who reside in far areas usually come home to the ancestral home to be with the family and see the dead relative for the last time.
As of today, we only had three deaths in our immediate family. My mom's younger brother who was shot to death by a murderer, and another uncle who died of cardio-vascular accident, and now, my grandmother who died of acute kidney infection and maybe old age too. I could not fail to notice that the mood in these three instances of deaths were different. During my murdered uncle's funeral, there were lots of tears-- tears both because of sadness and anger. When my other uncle died, I was not there because that was the time when I was still recuperating from a surgery. This time, I noticed that my uncles and aunts and my mom were not very sad although after the burial, I heard my two youngest aunts that they were feeling weird... Tita M said she feels like she's gonna go home and find her mother there needing someone to fix her hair. Maybe because they are satisfied that their mother had lived her life, and it's better that way than watching her suffer.
As for me, the illness that had befallen my grandmother came as a shock. I took it for granted that she will still be alive for a few more years. I've always wanted to write all the stories -- fables, legends, and factual World War II stories that she used to tell us (my cousins and myself) when we were little. I have plans of going to her with a digital recorder to record all the stories she could remember. So when she fell ill and I visited her at the hospital and I saw that she was deteriorating really fast, I was sort of awakened from my dream--that she'll be around for a few more years. Then I arrived at one of my uncle's house in the village, saw the wooden coffin, then it dawned on me that I will never be able to record any story from her again. I looked back at all the Saturdays and Sunday afternoons when I opted to watch TV rather than go to her and listen to her stories, and I could almost hit myself.
Now, my grandfather is still alive, but he also can no longer speak because his gum cancer has spread into his throat. And he'll be gone soon too...
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