Fourteen Years After My Grandma’s Death

Fourteen years ago today, I experienced one of the most painful moments in my life. My grandmother’s sudden death shocked the whole family, our neighbors, and relatives. She was at the hospital to visit her physician and had high hopes to get better after several days of not feeling well. Everything happened so fast that even my grandfather who accompanied her was not able to prepare for the inevitable. She didn’t even know that that day was going to be her last.

I was 14 years old when this happened. I didn’t experience anything traumatic before that so I had no idea that death could be very excruciating until I saw my grandfather’s head buried in his hands with tears cascading on his face. I couldn’t imagine the pain that he felt– it must be hard to contain because I never saw him crushed like that before. He was always there for her even when she was at times unreasonable. I tried to make sense of reality and when I couldn’t, I cried next to him, all on my own, as if I was grieving in private and didn’t want anyone to come near. I remember crying while walking to our house, in the bathroom, in bed, and even the morning after while eating my breakfast. I guess I already understood that my grandmother’s loss was irreversible so I felt a sense of guilt for prioritizing less-important things over spending time with her. I didn’t realize that until her death. I felt as if 14 years were insufficient to let her know how precious our moments were. Sadly, all I could hold on to was the memory.

Four years after her death, I found myself writing a series of Filipino essays for our Komunikasyon (Communications) class at UP. My professor would read the Essay of the Day to the whole class without mentioning the author’s name. I guess my essays pierced through my professor’s heart that’s why he handpicked four of the five essays that I wrote. They were all about my grandmother. Although I wrote about her death as a school requirement, it became clear to me that I needed to write so I could purge whatever pain that was left from her death.

I always try to rationalize bitter experiences as they come. I am a natural at forgetting things that happened to me but I am bad at dealing with death. I want to see it as a permanent migration to another country of the departed loved one but the fact that I will never hear from them again through phone, email or snail mails is unthinkable.

Now, when I think of my grandmother, the memories are limited to the time I spent with her at the elementary school where she taught all her life and where I graduated. We had lunch together every school day for six years and I could still vividly recall some of them. I no longer think of her death unless it’s the 22nd of March.