"To die will be an awfully big adventure." (J.M. Barrie - Peter Pan)
The past week has made me thought a lot about Death. Well, actually, I had thought about it every once in a while, especially after I read this on Coelho's blog.
My maternal grandfather passed away recently last Wednesday. The effects of diabetes had finally caught up with him. He had been rather immobile for the past 2 years because his feet and legs were swollen, so he couldn't really walk around too much. He spent most of his days in bed, or on a chair. In addition to that, he had symptoms of Parkinson and Alzheimer.
Around a month ago, he was admitted to the hospital. We all thought it was because of stroke. But the diagnosis said that it has nothing to do with any disease. It was simply because he was old. We had little hope of him getting back to normal, but miraculously he did. After around a week, he was healthy enough to throw a tantrum at everyone to let him went home. So we did. He came home on Tuesday, and was admitted back to the hospital on Monday. This time in ICU.
The doctor said his lungs failed to function. Because he didn't move around much, his lungs didn't get the exercise it needs. So it couldn't contract to draw air inside, thus he couldn't breathe. They had to put a machine called ventilator to help his lungs contract and breathe. And for the last 2 weeks of his life, he lived it through with the help of the ventilator, on a bed, inside a cold room surrounded with more machines that bleeped and blinked every second, with cables and tubes sticking on and inside his body -- a painful sight.
When he finally left us last Wednesday, forgive me God for saying this, I was actually relieved. He was finally free from the pain and sufferings. I don't think anyone would want to live that way. And I'm pretty sure that if only my grandfather could voice his opinion, he wouldn't want to be attached to those machines.
He was cremated the following Saturday morning. And when his coffin was entering the furnace, I finally let down my tears. I was never really close to him, he was a rather stiff old fashioned man who didn't really speak much. But nevertheless, he was a fine man, a good husband, and a good father. Going through the prayers and the rituals, I finally realized things would be different from now on. His ashes were thrown into the sea afterwards. He was finally one again with the universe.
I never had an experience of losing someone this close before (as in my close family). My paternal grandparents died when I was still very little so I practically didn't recall anything at all. But this time it felt so real, and I could remember every detail of the wake and the burial rituals. It's a new experience that I hope I wouldn't have to go through again too often too soon. Though I know that it is unavoidable.
We all know that we live side by side with Death. While I hope Death won't pick me up too soon, I do hope he would spare me from dying. I don't want to live out of machines. If such a thing should happen (knock on wood 3 times), I wish my family would just unplug the machines and safe everyone from prolonged sufferings.
I'd like to be cremated, and I'd want my ashes to be thrown into the sea, from the top of a mountain, and on my home's backyard -- that is, if I've lived to see the world as I always have wanted to. But sadly, if not, it would be wonderful if my ashes could be divided and then sent out to be scattered at the places I wanted to see, which would include Tibet, Nepal, India, Morocco, Turkey, Greece, Iceland, France, Japan, and many more. And I don't want people to mourn. I wish people would remember me in a good and happy way.
Death is lurking jut around the corner. We couldn't know for sure when we'd bump into him. So before that happens, I'm going to live my life fully. I'm a coward so I don't really take risks, but I'm trying. I'm gonna make the most out of this journey, I hope that should be a good enough preparation to go on to the next (and final) destination in life.
After all, we're only tourists in this holiday called life.
*) Written in memory of my grandfather
The past week has made me thought a lot about Death. Well, actually, I had thought about it every once in a while, especially after I read this on Coelho's blog.
My maternal grandfather passed away recently last Wednesday. The effects of diabetes had finally caught up with him. He had been rather immobile for the past 2 years because his feet and legs were swollen, so he couldn't really walk around too much. He spent most of his days in bed, or on a chair. In addition to that, he had symptoms of Parkinson and Alzheimer.
Around a month ago, he was admitted to the hospital. We all thought it was because of stroke. But the diagnosis said that it has nothing to do with any disease. It was simply because he was old. We had little hope of him getting back to normal, but miraculously he did. After around a week, he was healthy enough to throw a tantrum at everyone to let him went home. So we did. He came home on Tuesday, and was admitted back to the hospital on Monday. This time in ICU.
The doctor said his lungs failed to function. Because he didn't move around much, his lungs didn't get the exercise it needs. So it couldn't contract to draw air inside, thus he couldn't breathe. They had to put a machine called ventilator to help his lungs contract and breathe. And for the last 2 weeks of his life, he lived it through with the help of the ventilator, on a bed, inside a cold room surrounded with more machines that bleeped and blinked every second, with cables and tubes sticking on and inside his body -- a painful sight.
When he finally left us last Wednesday, forgive me God for saying this, I was actually relieved. He was finally free from the pain and sufferings. I don't think anyone would want to live that way. And I'm pretty sure that if only my grandfather could voice his opinion, he wouldn't want to be attached to those machines.
He was cremated the following Saturday morning. And when his coffin was entering the furnace, I finally let down my tears. I was never really close to him, he was a rather stiff old fashioned man who didn't really speak much. But nevertheless, he was a fine man, a good husband, and a good father. Going through the prayers and the rituals, I finally realized things would be different from now on. His ashes were thrown into the sea afterwards. He was finally one again with the universe.
I never had an experience of losing someone this close before (as in my close family). My paternal grandparents died when I was still very little so I practically didn't recall anything at all. But this time it felt so real, and I could remember every detail of the wake and the burial rituals. It's a new experience that I hope I wouldn't have to go through again too often too soon. Though I know that it is unavoidable.
We all know that we live side by side with Death. While I hope Death won't pick me up too soon, I do hope he would spare me from dying. I don't want to live out of machines. If such a thing should happen (knock on wood 3 times), I wish my family would just unplug the machines and safe everyone from prolonged sufferings.
I'd like to be cremated, and I'd want my ashes to be thrown into the sea, from the top of a mountain, and on my home's backyard -- that is, if I've lived to see the world as I always have wanted to. But sadly, if not, it would be wonderful if my ashes could be divided and then sent out to be scattered at the places I wanted to see, which would include Tibet, Nepal, India, Morocco, Turkey, Greece, Iceland, France, Japan, and many more. And I don't want people to mourn. I wish people would remember me in a good and happy way.
Death is lurking jut around the corner. We couldn't know for sure when we'd bump into him. So before that happens, I'm going to live my life fully. I'm a coward so I don't really take risks, but I'm trying. I'm gonna make the most out of this journey, I hope that should be a good enough preparation to go on to the next (and final) destination in life.
After all, we're only tourists in this holiday called life.
*) Written in memory of my grandfather
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