One death and a thousand more

My grandmother let go of life fom her shriveling body, while death's toll was rising at 200 by night time on the second day since Typhoon "Pablo" made landfall in the provinces of the Davao region.

She had a relief as well as everybody else in the family who had been anticipating her permanent rest rather than suffering, either from a thought of separation from all worldly things or the pain that hid under her fragile skin.

Almost a week had passed and Pablo continued to devour lives and properties, especially in Compostela Valley and Davao Oriental. Authorities reported that as of Tuesday noon, 850 people were killed and nearly a thousand are still missing who might soon increase the count if search and rescue operations failed to save them.

Death comes to us all, subtly or radically.

Losing a beloved brings an unfathomable grief like a conditioned reflex despite the science and philosophy about life and death, despite one's resolve that Death had been waiting at the betrothed doorstep.

My grandma's death was a confirmation of a nagging thought that she would not last.

But, a death that comes swiftly as the strong winds and flash floods and landslides that hit the poor communities without knocking at their doors brings not only sorrow, but also compunction that one does not have to feel for a bed-ridden grandma or a seriously-ill father.

It is a kind of death that is unnecessary, if death could sometimes be a need for the unconventional.

As days moved forward, lost lives reduced to numerals like in counting sheep to draw a sleep. Bodies became objects, non-living things like the rocks, mud and felled trees and ripped houses. And, missing persons became subjects of a hunting game.

No more eulogies nor funerals for them unlike that of my grandma but they'll all be buried on the ground and  will become a part of the soil.

No matter how they'd lived and died, death comes to everyone, no matter how, when, and whether or not it's necessary.

And, what matters most then is the life that remains here, and how to resolve the guilt that will surely bother if transformation doesn't follow.

Of Death and Graveyard

I just came back from a cemetery in the northern part of the city. It was my first time to visit such place. It's neither a good experience nor a bad one.

A wide LCD screen welcomed the visitors by showing "Pacman's" recent fights. I wondered if I were in a feast or something.

What amused me is the carnival just beside the cemetery. I saw a ferris wheel, tents of Ukay-ukay (rummage sale) and all sorts of gimmick to allure the visiting relatives and friends. Then there's a pack of vendors of flowers, candles, peanuts, ice cream, accessories, and kakanin (native delicacies). There were bigger tents of an aspiring president and a mayor for some volunteers for rescue and whatever stuff they could provide for the public.

The air was redolent of burning incense... But, what I heard from the graves were the loud noises of people from merry rides.

It is the typical poor man's grave. There are no exclusive gates and tombs are like shanties in squatters' area. Distance between each tomb is barely a meter. There's this thing they call "appartment" which has three levels of piled up tombs if the family of the deceased could not afford a grave lot.

While looking for the tomb of my demised uncle, my mother spoke to me without any expectation for a good conversation. She asked me if she were dead and buried in some place, would any one care to visit her or be as unfortunate as those unattended tombs we passed by.

I just gave her a smirk. "What a question?!" I told myself. But, then, this thought chagrined me for awhile until we came home.

Death is inevitable and being buried in some graveyard is part of it. But, visiting a tomb of a person you're once with is a tradition. It occurred to me that this special visitation is not for the dead ones at all but for those who visit. By visiting and saying prayers for those who left them, they feel at ease. They imagine a reunion with the dead at the last spot where they know the lifeless body went. That is why even if the cemetery is as inconvenient as that one, they still spend time for awhile.

But, I really swore not to go back to such kind of place on all saints or all souls day again.

The soul of the dead could be somewhere else joining the elements in the universe. So, anywhere I may be, I can whispher a prayer for and spare a moment to think of that person. I'm not saying this as an answer to my mother's question. Graveyard is still a holy place for me. I just expected it to be solemn and serene place to meditate and reflect for your deceased love ones.

If my graveyard were as a carnival-like as that one we visited, I'd rather be cremated and blown to the sea. I'd ask my family and special someone to go the beach and experience the breeze while thinking of me.

I pray for peace of all the souls who are now free from this hellish world.