Apart from the harrowing Asian Spirit flight from a year ago, the closest I have been to really coming face to face with my mortality is seeing my own name- nickname and surname- in the obituary section of the Philippine Daily Inquirer a couple of days back.
Her real name was miles away from my own but the contraction of syllables amounted to us having the same nickname. She was 49, the obituary notice said. Out of sheer curiosity, I did go to her wake. On the table just outside the chapel where her remains lie, there were photos of her. She seemed a very vibrant person, much younger-looking than most 49-year-olds I know. I came to within 30 feet of the glass door which led to where family and friends gathered. I contemplated for about 15 minutes whether I should go in or not. I didn’t. It felt too intrusive and insensitive, at that moment in time at least. The best I could do was ask the men in my prayer group to pray for her eternal rest.
That same day I read “my” obituary, I got an sms from one of the siblings of my recently departed friend. There’s a get together in their house on the 24th- it’s his first death anniversary already. How fast time flies. But still we miss him terribly.
I’m ok. Na bomb glorietta
A text message I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to ever receive, dreadful and yet… most welcome. I tried calling her up soon after I got the sms but I couldn’t get through. I still tried calling her despite knowing fully that she’d be busy dealing with the situation, part of management that she is. Hearing my sister’s voice hours later was utter, utter relief.
A reminder for all of us too busy with the pursuit of surviving rather than living: It can be lost just like *that*. Life is fragile- handle with prayer.