Of Life and Death

Once again, life slapped me with some unexpected stuff.

I just got home from my two-week stint as a private duty nurse for my grandmother, my dad's mom. She had diabetes, gout, renal failure. To cut the long and tormenting story short, Lola passed away last Saturday, February 6, 2010 at the age of 72.

Weeks ago, my Lola was admitted in the hospital. The doctor already informed our family that Lola can't stay with us for so long; her kidneys have refused to respond to treatment. She was sent home and from there, we took charge of her daily needs. Once again, the Big Man Upstairs called me to perform some nurse-related responsibilities.

Like most situations, the whole ordeal was bittersweet. I had to get up as early as 4:30 in the morning, feed her through a feeding tube, crush her medicines, bathe her, change her position every now and then. When she had intense tummy ache because her stomach stopped functioning, Lola wanted someone to be by her side most of the time. It was hard to see her suffer at her age. But it was harder to see the "life" in her diminish day by day.

The sweet part was getting to spend time with her. As with every life form sent here on earth, there is always a limit. It feels very different to actually know for certain that your loved one is approaching the limit. During her last few days, Lola and I had talks on the after-life; she told me she lived a happy life and she was ready. I cannot forget hearing her say "Don't let others make a decision that you can do for yourself." She reached for my hand most of the time. And she speaks to me in English, making me smile almost all the time.

I have waited for so many things in my life. But it was only then I learned that anticipated death is the most painful thing to wait for. A part of me wanted death to come right away, just so Lola won't be in too much pain. And there was a greater part of me wished she would stay longer. But then I realized that waiting for death, and with the other things in life, won't be too much of a burden for as long as you engage in something worthwhile during the wait. Right now, I feel happy for being granted with the chance to take care of her until her last breath.

I prayed that her last breath would come like a thief in the night - without announcement. And possibly, without any struggle. But Lola fought til the very end, fighting and squeezing the very last drop of her energy. It was a painful scene to witness; the whole room was spinning as relatives embraced each other in tears. I was beside Lola, watching her chest rise or fall for the last time but it did not happen. It was my first encounter with the death of a loved one. My medical mindset was on, I did the post-mortem care - cleaned her up, removed her feeding tube, positioned her properly.

My friends and loved ones know how much of a crybaby I am. But oddly, I haven't shed a single tear since that moment. Of course I feel sad, thinking I won't be able to see or talk to her from then on. But still, no tears. I can't say I've been hardened to the core. And I can't say that reality didn't sink in yet. But I think it's because my medical or logical mindset is on; I wanted things to be accomplished without paying attention to my emotions. And most probably, I feel rather happy; my mind is focused on her freedom from pain and disability.

Last night, I glanced at Lola in the casket. My cousin Jet and I were exchanging thoughts on life and death. We agreed on the same thing - Death is death. It sucks the life out of you. You'll never look vibrant and happy as ever when it comes. And it made me think how life would be such a waste if we didn't live it to the fullest. God gave us the gift of life, injected a purpose into each one and imposed a limit on it. What a wonderful thing life truly is.

I thank God and Lola for redirecting me to the finer things in life. I thank Lola for opening her arms to me and for not rejecting the care I gave her til her last breath. Thank you Lola Aurora for being my Lola.