A husband happily eats lunch with his wife and kids when suddenly, he complains of a severe headache. A week later, he’s got a bandage on his forehead, covering a depression caused by a hole in his skull. He’s suffered brain aneurysm, and he’s been back to the hospital twice more to recover from infection.
A husband recalls how a group of men ganged up on him when he was younger. More than thirty years later, he’s on a hospital bed surmising that the tumor in his brain is caused by that drunken event. Barely three weeks after leaving the hospital where he stayed for two months, he suddenly passed away; the tumor in his brain having progressed to a stage IV cancer.
A young girl who was active at school was rushed to the hospital due to a breathing difficulty. But what was supposed to be a routine checkup turned out to be a hospital stay for almost a month. Her fragile lungs unable to handle a mechanical ventilator, her parents took turns manually pumping out oxygen for her 24/7. A few weeks later, she died.
A teenage boy has gone in and out of the hospital since he was a baby. An unusual situation for some, but he and his family are used to celebrating the holiday season in a medical facility. After spending a few months in the hospital for treatment from brain infection, he was sent home, ready to go back to school. He’s got quite a few years of catching up to do in the academic calendar.
An old man is rushed to the hospital after tripping over and hitting his head against a concrete floor. Two weeks later, he was transferred to another hospital to receive better medical care. Almost all of his family members traveled with him, bringing along what he needs during his stay. After a few minutes of speaking with the doctor, the same family members decided that he’s had the run of his life.
Packing their bags, they watched as their old man was rolled away by the medical staff to wait for an ambulance or for a rental vehicle to take them back home. A few hours later, they watched as he got disconnected from his ventilation support and got loaded to a car from the funeral parlor.
A young student and two of his friends hitched a ride on their way home from school. Along the way, the road gave in, taking the truck along with it. The student ended up in the hospital where he is staying for six months and counting now. With a crushed skull, he falls in and out of consciousness, relying on a mechanical ventilator to make his heart beat. With the bills mounting, his mother, one of the many overseas Filipino workers, made a difficult decision to leave his side and go back to work.
These are some of the people and the stories they brought with them to the Neurological Ward of one of the hospitals here in the city. These stories, including my father’s, are an attestation that we can’t really tell where we’re headed and how much time we got to live on this earth. We know that death is inevitable but that knowledge is obscured by our belief of our invincibility.
But if this is how life happens and we’re bound to go, are we ready? Are we ever?
Back in college, Ms. Sally Itliong-Maximo, one of my teachers, shared a story about a conversation she had with a friend. Her friend was thinking aloud that if we’re born to die anyway, what’s the sense of living? My teacher’s answer was quite simple. She said that life and death are like the Alphabet. Life is like the letter A and death is like the letter Z. In between, there are letters – a number of them. These letters represent life. A life that’s meant to be built on meaning and purpose. She’s right, and that’s how it’s supposed to be.
Our current trajectory involves being born, going to school, getting a job, building a family, raising kids, keeping a job, retiring, if not dying at any point in the process. So how many of us actually discover greater purpose and deeper meaning when we’re all busy chasing professional success or simply placing food on the table? Do we ever have time to contemplate on the purpose of our existence and how we can leave our mark on this earth?
There are reasons most of us fear death. The notion itself makes us uncomfortable that we become evasive when it comes up during a conversation. When asked why, we simply respond by saying that we don’t want to talk about death. It’s a somber subject, and we’re busy living the time of our lives.
So here’s one thing that we should think about: if we’re so keen on enjoying life as it is, if we’re so keen on living the days of our lives, when the time comes for the reaping, which will we regret more: the things we haven’t done or the things that we have done?
The truth for me is that the fear of death has something to do with the fear of being forgotten. When our time is up, people will remember. But will they do forever? And when they do remember, will they remember us for leaving an imprint in their lives or will they remember us for merely thinking of ourselves and less than other people or the society that we lived in? What kind of footprint will we leave this earth, if we ever leave one?
There’s an interval to the letters A and Z, and that interval is our chance not only to pursue the kind of life we want to live but to discover our place in the world. Contrary to the majority’s belief, I believe that we’re not here to simply exist. We’re here to matter. Thinking that our demise can happen any time, we can leave in peace knowing that in our own way, we’ve given something back to the world.
So what of the people I’ve met in the hospital? I wonder what they’re thinking. Are they wondering if they can reclaim the life they used to live? Will they accept whatever limitations they’ll have once they recover? Will they be more resolved, having been face to face with the eventuality of everyone? Are they thinking about the things that they haven’t done but should have before ending up on that bed?
What of the children who I’ve seen had passed away? What about that life we all know is waiting for them? The world is yet to become their apple but they never really got the chance to plant their tree. And what about us? People who are still able to inject purpose into our lives without being prompted by a hospital bed? Will we continue to simply exist, letting life pass us by? What legacy will we ever leave?
As I’m completing this piece, the wailing sirens and the screams and cries of people echo in the walls of the emergency room. People haven’t stopped coming in since the onslaught of typhoon Ompong. Some of them have already died.
So let me stress the lesson: don’t simply exist. Matter. That’s so when the time of our passing comes, we’re going to leave behind a piece of ourselves in others. We can rest easy knowing that no matter how small, we’ve done something worthy of other people’s praises. This is how we ought to be remembered until the persistence of memory.
This blog post was first published in the Baguio Midland Courier. Please follow this link to read the published version.
Thank you to Quang Nguyen Vinh for the image. Please visit his profile and see his wonderful works.