Crashing waves in Tigbauan, Iloilo | Photo by Althea Tan

So I forced myself to wake up very early this morning and dragged myself to turn-on my laptop. I was scheduled for a Skype video chat with my family and relatives who are staying up late at the wake. My relative, who died two weeks ago, is about to be buried tomorrow and it will be a big event in town — all the town folks are attending in their Sunday’s best.

But up until now, I still haven’t got a clue why he died so suddenly. I feel terrible about it to say the least: I didn’t even have the chance to talk to his mother.

I know this shouldn’t be a big deal but for us, it’s customary to know every minute detail from the last days of the dead relative’s life. It’s like walking in his shoes and contemplating what his last words meant, wondering how his last meal tasted like, or what he was feeling moments before he died. I know it’s ghoulish to be listening the description of his death but it’s our way of sharing the family’s bereavement — by listening attentively and give them that “I know what you’re going through” look on your face. We don’t even have to say anything.

Burying a loved one’s body is probably the saddest, most painful part of our lives. Yes, it’s more painful than death itself. It’s when you realize that that person is actually gone. Forever. And you’ll never see a glimpse of him ever again in your lifetime. The most excruciating part of the burial is the recital of the last prayer at the cemetery shortly before the casket is to be closed and interred. To the onlookers and mourners, it’s the most awaited part. (The “eating after the burial” part comes in close second). It is when you see what nameless grief can do to people, especially to the immediate family. In the past, relatives fainted right in front of the casket, some wailed from too much anguish, others wanted to be locked inside the tomb with the dead. I’m sure this burial will be the most heartbreaking because he died at such a young age. I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow someone will suddenly fall unconscious.

Anyway, the call didn’t push through. I just got an short email from my mother saying that her broadband connection from her broadband portable stick cannot install Skype because it’s too slow and maybe we’ll chat next time.

I also called through cellphones but nobody answered. I know why: my US number is not stored in their phone books. Most probably they knew someone was calling but could only see the word “Call” on their screens and God knows who that “Call” is (and that could be me, right?). I think it’s a maddening practice among family members to totally ignore anonymous calls. I am equally guilty as well. As of today, I have around 20 “missed” calls in my phone register. But who could be calling me from Texas, Arizona, Oregon, and Ohio when I only shared my phone number with four people and none of them are from those states? Plus, I only got my US number around 45 days ago and I seldom use my phone for calling (more on tinkering with my apps).

So I just feel awful for being so out of the loop and hope they would understand. Believe me, being in the US is a far-out idea for most of them. Plus, the time difference is just crazy.

I guess the best thing that I can do today is to recall fond memories that I have with that person and write them down. Too many people focus on his loss and not on his life.

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