Death and dying

Recently, I lost two close friends in a matter of 5 days.

Maria Theresa Ujano Batangan, or Tess, was a younger colleague in the University of the Philippines. But she was also a friend and co-advocate for women’s and children’s rights. Frank “Sonny” Capalongan was my sister-in-law’s husband. I have the luck of becoming friends with my relations by affinity, and Sonny was certainly a dear friend.

It is difficult to talk about death in many (not all) cultures, and most mainstream (colonized, Christianized) Filipinos are not exempt from this. Having come from one of the most marginalized minorities (I refer to Filipinos who grew up without religion) I often put my foot in my mouth when I am too nonchalant, even jocular, about death and dying.

To illustrate, I was recently diagnosed as hypertensive because, at one point, I thought I was having a stroke. My immediate reaction was rather stupid from a medical point of view. I wanted to go home, write a letter to my children, husband and sister. If I had time I would also write a letter to my friends. I just wanted to tell them that I loved them. If I had even more time, I thought, I might re-write my will, which needs a few updates. Generally, however, all my finances are in order so that these can be easily (and legally) transferred to my heirs. My only regret would have been that I did not have a cremation plan. I have had two of those before, but used them for my brother and my father. I ensure that the ones I get are transferrable. But there is enough in my finances to cover such needs. Also my will has explicit instructions as to my wake and cremation.

I must reiterate that, if you believe you are having some life-threatening event like a heart attack or a stroke, you must go immediately to a hospital instead of deciding to go home and write love letters to your loved ones. The immediacy of your response is crucial to your survival and the quality of your life thereafter, so no fooling around here. As a medical doctor, I found my responses very stupid and I cannot criticize myself enough. To save my self-esteem, I must say that I reconsidered my first thoughts quickly enough and decided to call a neurologist.

Death not a laughing matter unless…

The point of this story is that I have had several occasions to talk about my stupidity to others, and many did not quite understand that I was trying to make them laugh.

Having recently gone through grief and loss in such a heart-wrenching fashion, I don’t think death is a laughing matter, especially to those of us who are left behind. I am not ashamed to say I broke down a lot during these last few weeks. The day after Sonny’s cremation, which was the first day in 3 weeks that I did not have to attend a wake, I cancelled all appointments and hid in my room.

But I am proud of the fact that, as a matter of spiritual principle, I can laugh about my own death. My mother and father, both agnostics and mental health professionals, made sure that they would pass on this bravery to their children. Now growing older, I must deal increasingly with the loss of friends and family members. I also need to think more seriously now about my own passing. It is important that I do not approach death with fear.

For one thing, fear and reticence about death prevent many from making the kind of preparations that would make things easier for their loved ones. Lawyers and doctors, who are the only ones to gain from this lack of preparation, nonetheless encourage us to have living wills and estate plans. They would be the first to tell you that it makes things easier for those left behind.

Being old enough to experience the pain of being left behind, I desperately wish to ease the pain for those who would grieve my death. I want them to know that it is okay. Not just in the sense that all people die, and therefore, we have no choice. I want them to accept that it is okay that I, this finite person, am gone. I hope to emphasize this point to them by the thoroughness of my preparations and my easy acceptance of my own death.

Life is finite, life Is beautiful

Because what I have learned and have had to reiterate to myself these past few weeks is something that sages both religious and secular tell us: that to live life fully one must accept that it ends, at least in this world.

Tess and Sonny are still wounds for me. But I know the wounds will heal because of who they were. Though they came from different fields (Tess was an academic and activist, Sonny was a banker) they were both people of sterling integrity who loved and were loved deeply. Call  it karma or manna, there is a strange paradox about life and death. I have learned that the best people leave you the least scarred in the long term even if the lousy ones are less painful to lose at the outset. And the good ones, like Sonny and Tess, leave you with fond memories and profound lessons.

I wish to be like that as well for those whom I love most and for whom I would indeed give up my life if necessary. Hopefully, however, I may continue to live for quite a bit more  time. If I remind myself that each day is so immensely precious, (because I can fearlessly confront my death) I will also be reminded to live it well and fully, not just for myself but also for those I love. Reminders that time is a valuable resource can often lead people to work harder and achieve more in a materialistic sense (often shortening their lives by stress). The antidote to this is to understand that time is valuable because life is finite. Only this understanding motivates me to undertake the spiritual and physical discipline that leads to a long and happy life. (Being a flawed person, I fail. But then I do keep trying.)

Sonny and Tess were both devout Catholics who prayed for my parents during their illnesses and deaths. My mother, on the other hand, often wondered about those who would profess belief in the resurrection Christ promised and yet be afraid to die. Because, as she said, she who was uncertain about what would happen after death had long been ready for it. My parents, Sonny, and Tess were, however, truly evolved persons despite their differences in belief. They did their best to stay with their families as long as they could. But I know that when their time came, they left gently and were unafraid.

Life is indeed precious, as those who have left us have shown. It is also transient. Spiritual wisdom lies in understanding that it is this transience that makes it profoundly beautiful. All those who have gone before me have taught me that one of the keys to living well is to be unafraid of death. – Rappler.com