'Getting Ready To Die'

This will sound weird, pathetic and attention-seeking, but really, at 49, I am getting ready to die. Papa left when he was 46, Mama when she was 50. If I would be given more than 50 years of life, that would be a bonus. For one, I feel old. I have aches and pains probably an 80-year-old feels. But as my friends would always say, 'but you have always been sickly since day one!', which is kinda true. That part, well, that's probably the attention-seeking one; feeling aches and pains here and there. 

Seriously, though, getting ready to die, and have the people you love be ready as well, is impossible. No one can truly be ready to leave this life, much more those one will leave behind. No one can really be ready for death. When Papa was diagnosed with cancer a long time ago, we were told quite bluntly that it was a matter of time: the tumor has already grown too large, and was positioned where it cannot be excised without him dying on the operating table. He underwent radiotherapy only to reduce the tumor's size so his pain can be 'managed' and let him die with the dignity any human being deserves. We asked his oncologist if treatment abroad is an option, to which he replied, 'he will receive the same treatment here, but at least he can still spend his remaining days with those he loves while on travel'. And so we left it at that. It was helplessness and despair for a month and a half. We waited, and all the while prayed that he would not die. His other doctor, the one who checked on him daily, told us the one comforting phrase unexpected of one in his profession: while there is life, there is hope. We hung on to that. Until he passed. His passing was most painful still, regardless of us 'getting ready'.

Mama passed away exactly the opposite way; one heart attack, on Christmas Eve years back. I remember the moment I saw her at the ER of the hospital they took her to, where she was declared DOA. Her lifeless body was properly covered with a clean, crisp blanket, but her feet were slightly showing. I held her feet and asked for forgiveness. I went home that night from the ER, numb. I could not cry. In my dreams, Mama came knocking by my window that night and said, 'I love you, Christianne'. Perhaps it was her way to tell me she has forgiven me. 

So the undiagnosed OCD in me acted up just a couple of years back: I have taken all steps to ensure that when it is my time to go, my children will not go through what I did when my parents passed. I want to be certain that they both will have enough to jumpstart their own lives. There are obligations I will leave behind, and those, too, I considered. Among others, I would like to be cremated, my ashes not to be kept home but to be scattered about in the ocean, while the sun sets, wherever my children will see fit. I do not want flowers in my wake, instead the people who would pay their last respects to me would be asked to give to charity, whichever they choose, in my memory. I always find joy in 'giving' even if I do not have much of mine to give. I 'give' from borrowed time and resources, and I deliberately get my friends who understand my misplaced philanthropy, involved in the 'giving'. Hence, my wishlist for this particular birthday. See? Getting ready. 

Of course there is a big difference between 'getting ready to die' and 'wanting to die'. I do not want to die. I dread the day that would come, not only because I have not fully fed from life and its gifts, but because I do not want my children not to be with their mom. I still look forward to seeing Ana in her wedding dress, dote on her kids, see my Aidan be a lawyer one day. I fervently pray I would still be given the chance to do so, among many other stuff a mom has in her bucket list. 

I have much to be thankful for. I am blessed, in every sense of the word, despite the struggles and drama which has peppered almost five decades of my life. Each day I wake up is a blessing in itself, and I sometimes feel undeserving and unworthy of all that have been bestowed upon me by God and His grace. I have made stupid decisions in this life, so I cannot categorically state that I am a good person altogether. But, since I have again been given another shot at it, I will go on living my life everyday as if it were the last. I will start with the small things, to paraphrase Vincent Van Gogh. I will stop and look at sunsets, set atop ricefields. I will take plenty of selfies to other people's irritation. I will post what I want the world to know, to my friends' annoyance. I will write and write all my thoughts as they are prayers unsaid. I will choose to close my heart to that which makes it ache.  I will try to smile with all the effort I can muster each time I am to get terribly upset with something. I will try to reach out to anyone who needs me, my presence. I will try to be a  better mom, sibling, friend, boss, a better version of me from the day before. I will say 'thank you' each time I have the chance to do so, to the people who simply held my hand and helped, without so much as a tinge of judgement. I will live this life filled to the brim with joy that I am here, content with the thought that I am who I am. I will love myself, from which I will draw the faith and the strength to love those who are in my life even if they do not love me back. This journey, after all, is about me. Whatever people think of me, and how I have lived, is their journey. Let that be between them and their god. I, however, thrive in this relationship with my God, which I dare say, has never been better. 

Oh, and by the way, I have a book to write.