OF DEATH AND DEFYING IT

John Paul L. Botin

31 May 2010

If death is likened to gravity, which we cannot absolutely defy, then living

with it on a regular frequency is a state of partial weightlessness. Our daily
existence is a continuing skirmish with death. For every moment that a life-
form, however animate or lethargic, is sent to inhabit this earth, it is just a
matter of time before finally the probability and likelihood of death becomes
apparently a certainty. Chances are, nature has its distinct scheme of
impermanence and turns everything in this world, regardless of significance
or magnitude, into sub-atomic particles to restore equilibrium.

Having lived in a nuclear family of nine (9) inclusive of parents and siblings, I
have witnessed death more than twice. But since my memory seems to fail
me in the retrieval of memories, I will stick to two most remembered losses.
First was when my father died and once more when my maternal
grandmother departed as well.

The most vivid memory that I have of my father was the last time he would
be signing my report card. That, I suppose, was when I was in Second Year
High School. He even said “Where in this world would you ever find a
penmanship and signature such as this?”. The good thing is, just recently,
someone unearthed things in my past and put them into perspective.
Unconsciously, the numerical figures on that same scholastic record would
eventually be turned into a system to benefit many in my place of work.

My father’s death in 1995 came as a collective result of his hardships, toils

and neglect. Doctors labeled it “congestive heart failure” later. The only
thing that I regret is the fact that I never had the chance to learn much from
him, ask him questions that would probably matter in my days ahead and
partly I have to blame it to my youth. And as I old, I envy my older siblings,
brothers in particular, for their inherent abilities that I was never endowed
naturally or by genetic inheritance including practical, technical and
mechanical skills, eloquence, intelligence, diplomacy. Most likely, I have to
find my way and figure things out myself.

Some years later, my grandmother finally succumbed after a short-lived

battle with colon cancer. And for both losses came flooding streams of tears,
of guilt, of longing, of acceptance. I do not involuntarily cry because I have to
or merely for reasons of committing to the demands of the circumstance. It
is basically my eyes’ induced reaction to spontaneous lachrymal
suppression.

Death, just like betrayal and distrust, is a faithful reality. It is there to remind
us how much time we still have and that unfortunately we do not have much.