Post-Mortem Lesson 8: A Moment Of Pristine Joy

"People have forgotten this truth...but you mustn't forget it. You become responsible for what you've tamed." - the fox to The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)

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How much would you give for a singular moment of pristine joy?

If someone asked me this a few months ago, I would probably say, I would give my life and soul for it. Why so, it is because I thought i have become too despondent to think that joy can co-exist with my sorrow: I thought that when one is awake, the other is asleep. That's what Gibran said anyway.

However, it seems to me that I exist in an unusual yet comforting condition that I am being cared for by someone from another dimension, and that there is a calming assurance that I do deserve even just a singular moment of joy, in spite of him. Or more exactly, in spite of his absence.

That it is ok for me to be happy. That I need not feel guilty about it.

Joy came, sooner than I expected. Not once. Not twice. Many times over. It came like multiple slivers of light in a dark room that is my life as I have known many months ago.

[I did not have to give up my life and soul. I just had to open my heart and mind a bit.]

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Now a new question arises: How much would I give for eternal joy, if ever there is such a thing?

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[I am not too sure now .... but I want it bad, so badly ... ]

Post-Mortem Lesson 7: Joy and Sorrow

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

- Kahlil Gibran, "The Prophet"

Before I used to ask why something that gives you joy can give you sorrow in one unfortunate instance.

I once even arrived at a rather unjust conclusion that attachment to earthly things has a lot to do with this. That it is all organic, a man's tendency to hold on to his physical possessions and attributes.

I have been wrong, of course....there are things beyond the physical realm that I failed to factor in.

I fully understand now.

Post-Mortem Lesson 6: Recluse

It is certainly true that we who have lost our loved ones strive to make our lives as near normal (as we knew it) as possible even though we know at the bottom of our hearts that it will never ever be the same again. It is even harder to establish some sense of normalcy in our daily routine when the person who died has lived with us, or spent time with us under a single roof.

I do not mean to underestimate the sense of loss of friends but it cannot be denied that the impact of loss on the person who has lived with the departed, as far as re-establishing the daily routine is concerned (and I am very careful that I make this disclaimer), is more pronounced and more profound.

Various coping mechanisms are adopted by this particular subset of the bereaved. Some resort to shoving bitter memories at the deepest recesses of their brains by drowning themselves in work. Others, like a friend of mine who was coping with the death of his mother, stayed in bed for many days half-hoping they die in their sleep and join their beloved in the other world. A few sell their homes or leave them to either start anew or avoid being reminded by memories of the deceased and hurt themselves in the process.

None of these are options for me, though I do admit to pushing myself to work many times. However, probably the most pronounced change on me of late, aside from rapid weight loss (30lbs in 4 months!) is my preference to stay home.

I was never a homebody. I would rather stay out of the house and roam around the bars or go for an out-of-towner. It is a different story now. Unless it is absolutely necessary for me to go out, I would rather be at home. Lounging around within the corners of my abode. Nestled among my litter comprised of books, records, CDs. Surfing the net or communicating with friends online. Watching travel shows. Attempting to cook....

A friend wondered if I am trying to draw some sense of comfort from my home, which I shared with Je for 6 years. I never really thought of it that way, but since she pointed it out, then maybe I am actually doing so. It is my way of keeping myself safe, perhaps; only I can protect myself from life's further insult, and I could use a lot of help from places where I can have a sense of security and normalcy.

If this makes me a recluse then yes I think I am for now. And the from the looks of it, most of my friends understand, and they let me be, but at the same time, they check on me. (Thank you God for giving me some really understanding, not so insensitive friends....)

Post-Mortem Lesson 5: What Is It Like?

This is one question I am quite fond of asking. What is it like to be in a particular situation? To be in a less fortunate state? To be confronted with your greatest fear? A good number of times I have been taken as a pessimist, one who looks at the worst possibilities, but for me it is one of my rather perverted means of being able to understand people and situations.

A week ago, I had an in-depth chat with a friend in Second Life. Like me, she has had her fair share of losses: her fiance died, and later on, her husband succumbed to cancer. It was an enriching conversation, to say to the least. She then gave me a link to a video clip. "I think you should watch this," she said in essence, "as this video might give you fresh insights on death from a scientific point of view."

The video in question is that of Jill Bolte Taylor, a brain researcher who herself had a stroke and was witness to her own body's gradual shutdown of functions. She has hence recovered and eventually travelled to give talks mainly on her recovery. I took the liberty of embedding the video. You may visit its source at http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/jill_bolte_taylor_s_powerful_stroke_of_insight.html.



Probably the most striking part in the video is when Jill narrated how the right half of her brain struggled with the left, affecting her perception of being "one" with her environment as against being "one", a solitary being. This is an experience where Jill is practically at the brink of death, and stories of people coming from a near-death experience are always very interesting and intriguing.

What is it like, indeed, to approach the end of your life? When you see a good number of people drop one by one like flies, you tend to start wondering yourself. I, for one, am not very religious, but I believe in a Higher Being, and I believe that when a person dies, his energy has to go somewhere. An energy converted to another, if I wish to be nerdy about this.

However, I see little point in being nerdy when it comes to people I care for who have left this physical world. Why rationalise [and hurt myself more in the process]? For me, they cannot be truly gone, they are just somewhere, in a place I cannot physically be in, energy conversion be damned. I guess even Science can support me somehow at this point.

For now, though, it is faith that tells me: the people that I care for are in a better place, in another level of existence, and that I know that I am [still] cared for in return. And that I make this statement regardless of religion, regardless of science.

Post-Mortem Lesson 4: What is Your Friend

I have a mouthful to say about death and friendship. This seems to be a universal phenomenon: when you die, you become a family member to many, and a friend to all. One of the tasks of those who are left behind is to know if they are dealing with a genuine sympathizer or with someone who is simply taking advantage of their grief for self-glorification.

Instances need not be enumerated as they are unique to that particular departed person and situation. It is enough to say that some people can be really exploitative, not knowing their place at all. I have seen so many people fall to this dangerous trap, and I feel so sorry for them. Two years ago it was my turn to be exposed to the same situation and the same people. My decisions regarding the disposition of the dead were questioned and had put me in a not-so-good light. Again, two years later, I find myself in the same scenario.

In moments like these, there are only a few things to remember. Always respect the wishes of the dead. Let not the comments of people affect your decision as long as you know you are right. Know the people who have been truly friends with the dead through thick and thin and recognize their presence and efforts. And in times of indecision, think real hard, search within your mind, heart and soul for answers. Somewhere, they will be there.

For me, this is one of my most challenging post-mortem lessons. That is, in life, as in death, you must know the true friends of your beloved departed.

Post-Mortem Lesson 3: Definition of Bereavement Revisited

Even repeated experiences of death of loved ones, as in my case, do not sufficiently prepare a person for another one of these episodes. Two years after my mom died, a friend and a mentor passed away. I was praying hard: I felt that I cannot endure another death, so please God let it not come so soon. But it did, again, a month ago. And this one is the most devastating, to date.

Initially I was telling people, I want to drown myself in work, I want to be extremely busy. I guess it was all self-defense. Friends and family members were very sympathetic and tried to help to make life a little easier. But nothing and no one really protected me from the impact of this loss. No one seemed quite sure with what to tell me, no matter how well-meaning they are. And so there are times I would feel that I want to simply disappear in thin air.

So I decided to talk to people who have had the same experience: a friend who has had the same experience as mine, and a psychiatrist friend who for a time was dealing with her own loss.

They both told me essentially something similar. Appreciate the experience, and allow yourself to mourn. This is something I can read in the book, but it sounds very credible and honest coming from them. I certainly appreciate that they did not pressure me to get over it, did not give me a time limit, and instead assured me that my emotions are expected (illogical as they are, bereavement is inherently illogical). To suppress mourning is to prolong it, which is not good.

This is probably the best advice I got...

...except that the world does not wait for people who grieve. This world of bills, employment, heavy traffic, inconsiderate people, diplomate exams, and all earthly concerns (immediately pressing but insignificant in the final analysis) can be really, really cruel.

The world simply does not wait.

Post-Mortem Lesson 2: Cooking To Save My Life

I love food, but I don't cook. I heartily disagree with the pervading idea that a person does not know what good food is if he cannot cook. It is almost like saying, one is not equipped to love flowers just because he cannot grow a rose or a gardenia on a pot.

This does not mean that I have zero knowledge in food preparation. I can cook rice, noodles (I'm not talking about ready-to-eat-just-add-hot-water varieties here), omelette, and simple sauteed and fried dishes. It's just that I simply do not have the patience to stand in front of the stove nor the skill to balance flavours just by eyeballing, like how I see those marvelous chefs do it.

Je did all the cooking throughout the past six years that we were together. Every dish he did, in spite of the hits and misses, was done with care and passion, much like the way he put some choice songs together into a seamless mix (he did all my playlists at Trash Radio Manila). And so when he died, I felt, apart from from the barrage of emotions I had and still continue to experience, an indescribable craving for flavours that I associate with pleasant memories. Which is the reason why, one day, I found myself pondering in front of my electric stove.

[In my mind at that moment, I ran a list of dishes that Je used to prepare...I miss his curry, the first dish that he ever served me. I miss his soy chicken, which he packed for me to bring to the hospital during duty days. I miss his moussaka, the recipe for which he inherited from his mother. I miss his caldereta, kare-kare, lasagna...heck, I even miss his corned beef....]

I was staring long and hard at the stove, the pans, ladles...and decided on what to whip up the following day.

And so it went that the first dish that I did after a long while was one that I had never ever done before: FRENCH ONION SOUP.

[Oh God. I hope no Frenchman is reading this post right now *blush*]

The outcome? It was disappointing. I did not get the flavour that I want. Besides, I missed an important ingredient: French Gruyere cheese. (Embarrassing Point 2: I used cottage cheese, the cheese I had in the fridge that time.) Then again, I too have my hits and misses (with the misses far outweighing the hits). Cooking is something that I am, well, learning to do, in my attempt to replicate good memories, and eventually make new ones.

And as far as my relationship with the stove is concerned, this is only the beginning.

Post-Mortem Lesson 1: Learning To Drive

Photo from this site.

For what seemed to be an eternity, Je has been my driver. For him, driving is his therapy, his de-stressor, despite the impossible state of affairs of traffic here in Metro Manila. I had perpetually postponed my driving lessons due to a combination of schedule conflicts, procrastination, and, partly, Je's lack of enthusiasm: he thought that I have the makings of a reckless driver. And so, for about six years, I was driven around by a (practically) 24/7 chauffeur, like a spoiled brat.

Roughly a week after Je's interment, I headed to the LTO office at Pillilia St. in Makati to secure my student driving permit. Damn, I said to myself, I feel too old to be applying for a student permit, but hell, I am doing this out of necessity. Going from clinic to clinic via a taxi cab is getting to be very very tedious, stressful, and expensive. (I computed my gas expenses and it turned out that it is actually cheaper for me to use the car.) Public transport by bus, MRT, or jeepney, snobbish as this may sound and I'm sorry if I come off that way, is definitely NOT an option.

I must say that, contrary to what I initially thought, getting a student's permit in Makati is an absolute breeze. The staff was very courteous, the waiting area was cool, and in less than 30 minutes, I already had my permit.

Because I haven't touched a steering wheel in more than ten years, my sister made me drive around last Sunday. "Just move the car around and we'll go to the trickier parts later," she said in the vernacular, as I struggled with the clutch and gas pedals. In better times, learning to drive around like this session we had, in a quiet place with trees and the sun lazily setting in the background, would probably make for a good, refreshing experience. Instead, I got frustrated for the most part, as I was unable to smoothly maneuver, doubting if I will ever be able to confidently take on the EDSA jungle and do a deft parallel parking (something that Je is soooo good at) in a span of TWO WEEKS. I know it can be done, BUT.

Whenever I lie on my bed every night since that fateful day, I find myself in the middle of conflict. Part of me tells me to fast track everything (driving lessons included). So far I have accomplished all the things I would have normally completed in six months within just one week. Part of me, however, asks: What is the point, anyway?!!

And then I fall asleep, without any answer as always, only to wake up three hours later and realize again that things have changed, life has changed, and the car key has suddenly, unwittingly, found an unlikely refuge: my hand.