Of Life Lessons

"Please do take care of your Dad."


Uncle W said this while I was placing uncooked rice onto the cooker for dinner.


It felt weird and awkward after him saying those six words. One that got me into deep thinking.


"Whoa, where did that come from? Is he kidding me? What is he up to?" I asked myself.


I don't know who told him but he knows me and my Dad are not in good terms. Heck, I could even justify that we are not in terms, at all.


After the escaped words of wisdom, he left.


A couple of months passed and we had a family reunion because my cousin celebrated his graduation from High School.


We met at a Chinese restaurant in Bel-air. And there, I saw Uncle again but something is different. I had a very bad feeling.


He spoke to us and conversed with us but there was a certain hoarseness in his voice, quite unusual. But still, we did not take it seriously.


Fourteen days went by without knowing what was happening to him. We were not updated. We all thought everything is going quite well on his side of town while we were enjoying the sun and the sand in Pangasinan.


"Your Uncle lost his voice." Our Grandma told us at their ancestral house.


My cousins and I looked at each other with a huge question mark on our face. Our faces were asking: so what? We're pretty sure it will come back shortly.


We didn't know it will result to a more horrific situation.


After returning from our trip, Uncle W's condition took in for the worse. He immediately consulted a physician and had all blood chemistry done to check what's causing his easy fatigability, loss of voice, and lumps in his abdominal area.


Third stage Cancer of the Lungs was the Physician's diagnosis. We were shocked! We know he's a hard-smoker but Cancer? And what's more is that it metastasized.


Everyone prayed fervently. We all did what a good supporting family would do; support him morally, emotionally and spiritually; cheer him up even when he's not in the mood; check his medical status every now and then.


Good thing the company he's working in paid all his chemotherapy expenses. Reality is, he couldn't afford such expense. But we were there. We needed to be there.


Day after day we would ask his kids on his condition: sometimes it's bad, sometimes he's feeling better, sometimes he's okay, sometimes he's in pain, sometimes he cries, sometimes he falls off from bed, sometimes he doesn't look at people, sometimes he seems to give out a faint smile, sometimes he is frowning from dawn till dusk, sometimes he can't sleep at night, sometimes he is barely awake.


Sometimes I wish I could have done more.


Months passed and my Mom visits and takes care of him daily, she updates me every now and then. From caring at home, he was transferred to the hospital for further close monitoring. We all thought, well, that would be better for him because medical professionals will be checking him and making sure he'll be better.


One day at a time, he will be better. Good as new. Better than before. More talkative then the last. And more workaholic than previously.


As we predicted.


My cousin and I were biking that day. It was part of our daily routine during summer to exercise. We were literally obese.


As we were biking around the cemetery, I kept thinking of Uncle W. It was freaking me out. I was thinking of him from the time we left home until the end of our biking session. I can't keep him out of my mind.


What is happening to him?


Is he going to be out of the hospital today?


When can I see him again? I miss our silly conversations.


Will he give a sermon again on helping out at home? I miss that too.


Why is he suddenly running in my head? Maybe because he's better.


And with that last round at the cemetery, we were done and got home. After taking a bath I checked my phone, as would any person with a mobile phone would do.


I saw a text. One text. It was from his middle-born son.


"At around 8:15 am, my Dad, W, passed away from cancer of the lungs. His body will be brought to Funeraria Paz in Quezon City. Thank you for all your prayers and well wishes. We all know he is already in the good hands of the Lord, our God."


And with that I deleted the text and immediately changed clothes. My Mom and I were the only people in the house and decided to go to the hospital where he was confined. 


You know that feeling of apathy? That feeling that there's nothing you feel? A certain numbness enveloping the heart from what could be devastating to begin with?


I felt that. I didn't feel sorry nor happy because his pain is all gone. I didn't feel sick nor sad because of his death. I didn't feel restless nor tormented because he passed away.


I was just numb.


Before we even got to the hospital, my cousin, his son called us and told us that they were already at the funeral. We hailed a cab from the perimeter of the hospital and went straight to the funeral place.


Oh, we waited for hours and hours for his body. People, unknown or not started to pour inside the room. We weren't even talking about him. Everything was so casual. Like nothing happened. Like no one died.


But the wind changed and the mood altered as soon as we saw the coffin arriving inside. It was as if death all struck us from within. Suddenly cries started pouring in, people who I barely know were crying for the same reason I was crying. We felt a huge loss.


And there, there I cried. I cried with all my heart. I cried with tears I might have saved up. I cried with such heart-wrench and grief. I cried. And the numbness dissipated...  


As we lay our Uncle to rest, Grandfather said something that I will never, ever forget.


"We should be the ones being buried by our children, not the other way around."


Finally, he slowly placed the porcelain jar inside the four corners in the columbarium.  






Good night and sleep tight. Dream and dream wonderfully for your sleep is eternal, limitless, boundless.