Friday, June 19, 2009

Processing Death

Dear Lucas,

I didn’t expect to write to you about death this soon – perhaps it’s just too morbid, given your age etc etc. But it’s a fact of life and – given your Papa isn’t getting any younger – it crosses my mind more often than I want it to.

The trigger, this time, is the sudden passing of Dr, Michael Brillantes at the Veteran’s Medical Center last June 17. Mike was a classmate from Grade 1 all the way to High School. His death was sudden, at least in the way I received the news. Over lunch with some other classmates we were texted that Mike was in the intensive care unit, something to do with his pancreas. Before I could finalize plans to visit him in the hospital that night another text came in that he had died. Early the next day I was informed that he was already cremated. It seems that the events just kept rolling in faster than the speed I could process them. At this point I am still processing the first text message, how could Mike be that ill – a gifted physician, and among the most positive people I know?

I remember Mike as someone who was just there. That was a unique trait in an exclusive boy’s school like the Ateneo de Manila, especially those in the Honor’s Class where most if not all had alpha male traits and aspirations. In that world you either stepped up to dominate – got the medals, won the trophies, bullied the rest – or just shrank in a corner where nobody knew you existed and hoped nobody would notice you.

But not Mike. He was not alpha, but he was there. Just being there, smiling, being a friend and supporter to all, never rubbing anybody the wrong way… that was Mike.

However, I do recall vividly one afternoon football game in high school, in a rare display of power (having possession of the ball) Mike charged towards the goal. Perhaps due to the sudden burst of raw energy he lost control and just slammed into the goal post and fell on his back, unconscious.

We gathered around Mike, who lay sprawled on the grass. “Patay na (He’s dead),” one classmate blurted out. We giggled– we were young, in our most energetic time, and death was a concept that was unreal.

Mike opened his eyes seconds later, but did not get up until a few minutes more. He was in a daze, perhaps trying to remember who he was. But when he did, it was as if nothing has happened and we went on with the game. And for the next 30 or so years Mike continued to be there for all of us.

Mike’s death is one of those deep losses that are sometimes very difficult to fathom. Your Grandfathers’ passing was easier to grasp as they lived full lives. My father, your Lolo Pablo died at 69, the national average but still too young to many. But he had an extension of over 30 years because of a successful experimental treatment in the 1950s. If this didn’t happen, I would not have been born.

Your mom’s father, your Lolo Tony, passed away after a lingering illness well into his 70s. My mom, your Lola Del, had been bedridden for many years and hit her 80s when she passed on.

Your cousin Ana passed when she was just months old – and while it is sad I guess her life impact and potential had not dawned upon us and remains to this day vague possibilities and what ifs.


In the middle --
Mike Brilliantes being there made the night in our most recent gathering


Mike, though not a blood relative, was a brother whose timeline ran parallel to mine. Just before his passing I was still looking forward to days and years of project planning and implementing, of building dreams into reality, of running around crazy with you. Mike died, left a wife and kids, left a career, left some dreams and aspirations we still talked about in those class reunions. Mike’s death takes longer to process. But he will go on to play the game, and will as always be there.

Isaiah 51:11 – Therefore the redeemed of the LORD shall return, and come with singing unto Zion; and everlasting joy shall be upon their head: they shall obtain gladness and joy; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.

As any father who loves his child I fervently wish to save you from such pain. But it will come so I take comfort that the Lord will watch over you at that time and will provide the comfort and joy you need as you go through that process.

All my love,

Papa

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