The Debt That All Men Pay

From the confines of my work table

I was beating the deadline. I've got three more 500 word articles to write in just an hour and there I was--stumped. My mind's not working. It felt like all the words were scrubbed clean from the parts of my brain along Broca's and Wernicke's abode. So, I tried to take a break. I visited my Facebook account and said a few hellos to my twitter followers. It was not a few minutes after I logged in to these social networking sites when I received a text message from my mom that my grandmother was in the hospital. Yes, my grandmother was sick and had been in the hospital for about a week or so. I've planned to take a week off from work inorder to visit her and my boss eagerly agreed but to start my week off on March 6. It was February 26.

A minute later, my cellphone kept beeping with a continuous array of incoming messages. My mother has been keeping me updated about grandma. I was worried. I was e-mailing my employer that I had to go home the next day. Five minutes later, mom said grandma's breathing was slowing down. That was when I realized grandma wasn't about to make it through the night, though I prayed she would atleast wait for me to come home. A minute later after I have sent an email to my employer, ma informed me grandma passed away. It was 7:30 that evening.

I really didn't know what to do for a while. I was shocked. My grandma was old but I never expected her to pass away that early. She was strong. The last time I was home, she was singing and talking frantically. That was a month ago.

And then I felt something. It was a familiar feeling-- a feeling of guilt, a little bit of anger, and a great deal of sadness. Yes, I've felt this way before. And now all those feelings I've gotten over with are now coming back to haunt me one more time. I've never really been there beside my dad when he was battling the Big C. I've been in school trying my very best to make my parents proud of me. I never even knew how grave my dad's condition was until mom had us (my 2 sisters and my brother) visit him at St. Luke's. I never knew he was dying until I saw him go lifeless as I held on to his hands while he was getting prepared for dialysis. It was too late for me to act even though I still tried to connect my dad's oxygen tube to the porthole and up the dosage to 10 litres per minute. My hands were shaking so bad. I wanted to cry but then tears failed to fall. I found myself staring at my mom, crying so hard, so jealous of those tears streaming down her lovely face. I was shocked, stunned, blank, zilch. And then I had to do the hardest thing to do that day. I had to tell my sisters and my barely out-of-toddlerhood brother that dad has passed away. That day was the saddest and the most difficult day in my life.

And here I am feeling the same way about my grandma. The guilt, the anger, the sadness. I never thought I'd feel this way again but here I am wallowing in the same quicksand I have saved myself from years before.

I sent a quick message to my friends that I could not make it for the Itogon outing, logged off and prepared to go home the next day. I never even sent an e-mail to my employer that I am taking the week off early. I just packed my things and stayed up all night, being kept updated by my mom and relatives back home.

The next day was a bit gloomy, as if it was grieving with me. I hopped on the bus bound for home and forced myself to sleep or else I'd just embarrass myself crying all the way home.

I reached Dao-angan in the afternoon and people were just starting to fall in. I went straight to look for my grandma and there she was in her room, on her bed, asleep. Peaceful. I swear I saw her chest rise as I walked in. I looked down upon her face and then I really knew that she is never coming back. Never again will I hear her voice. Never again will I see those beautiful 'bolinawan' eyes. Never again will I see her get out of her seat and brave to crawl the downward path to the pigpen to feed the pigs and crawl right back up to the house while weeding. Never again will I see her hunched down uprooting my uncle's freshly-planted flowers. Never again will I see her talking to the seemingly moving images on a magazine. Lots of things I will never ever see again except when I reel back to back when. I knew right then when I was looking down at her that she will be dearly missed and her memories never forgotten. I silently prayed that the Lord would keep guiding grandma as she finds her way right into His kingdom.

I silently asked for forgiveness from Grandma for shouting at her before and for losing my patience about such trivial things as poking the fire when it's burning, weeding, losing her dentures, and even removing her diapers. I knew it was not my responsibility and I have no right to chide her for doing these. I am so sorry that it was only now that I have understood what it was to be old. Enrolling in the Nursing course helped me realize the wrong things I've done before. And now I feel guilty of the past. I never had the time and commitment to right what I've done wrong. And now I'm too late. I was a day, a month, a year, a lot of opportunities too late. I know the Lord knows how sorry I am and I do hope that wherever grandma is now, she knows how I feel. Forgive me.

I hope that someday when I am able to pay the debt that all men pay, Grandma would be there standing beside St. Peter, my father, Uncle Rudy, Uncle Greg, Uncle Steve and Uncle Jesus, smiling, reaching her hand to me and welcoming me to enter those ever-famous Pearly Gates.