Honey's Passing

Day One-Point-Five. 

In this life, I have experienced many losses, of different kinds and depth. Some I dealt with like a walk in the park, and most, I tortured myself each day with every ounce of sadness until weak and on the edge. My close friends tell me I should always choose the easier way, because in the end, no matter how I deal with the loss, it will still be what it is. Someone or something has been taken away from me. Either that or I was the one who made the decision to simply let go. 

Yesterday was entirely about NOT letting go. In less than twelve hours, Honey, the 'mother' I was blessed with the past three years while working here in Vigan, passed away unexpectedly. Writing this, I am still in a daze, although reality is creeping in a bit. Yesterday, I felt like I was watching myself from a seat in a movie theater, numbness reigning over reason. Today, at least I feel my toes touching the soles of my shoes. Still, I cannot draw a clear line between what is, and what ought to be. 

Just yesterday morning, I was on my usual coffee-marlboro-ipad mornings, watching Honey rid of the brown, dry leaves from her potted plants. We exchanged our morning greetings and she asked if I wanted a bottle of soda. I laughed and told her I am still on my first cup of coffee, no breakfast yet.  She asked if I was going to work, I told her I was to report to the office before noon as I had to reply to some emails first. She said, ok, then went back to her chores. I was in the bathroom when the urgent knocks on the door came, with it the nervous screams of our household help, Karen. I knew something was terribly wrong. I do not recall how I ran to where Honey was. I just knew I was wearing the same housedress I took off before stepping in the shower.

There she was, Honey, laying down by her sofa, her sleeveless shirt and shorts soaked in blood. Karen was wiping blood off Honey's arms and legs. Honey had, apparently, fallen from the stairs. Jonelle, Honey's nephew, I was told later, carried her from where she was found to the sofa. Auntie Cresing, Honey's cousin and nextdoor neighbor was there, too, in panic. I searched Honey's body, wanting to find out where the bleeding was coming from, and it was from a wound behind her left ear. I asked for any cloth with ice and told Auntie Cresing to apply pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. I called Robert, a colleague, to come immediately from the office, with Leonelle, Honey's niece (another one of my colleagues).  I did not have time to explain to Robert what happened. 

I asked for a cold damp cloth and wiped Honey's face with it, while asking her what happened, if she knew who I was, and told her repeatedly not to fall asleep. She knew what was going on, everything. She gave correct answers to my questions. While waiting for Robert and Leonelle to arrive, Honey said she wanted to vomit. We slowly leaned her forward as I was afraid she would choke. Nothing came out. I told her she was just nauseous and that help was on the way. I asked if she was thirsty, she nodded. So Jonelle came with a glass of water and straw. Honey took a sip, a few at a time. Her lips were getting pale, so I used cotton soaked in water to moisten her lips. Then she muttered, 'matayakun' ('I am dying). Auntie Cresing told her to stop and pray instead. I took one of her hands, and placed it on my chest. I spoke to her calmly and said, 'Honey, mariknam diay pusok? Nabiyag ta pay. Agiddan ta nga umanges, wen?' (Honey, you feel that? That's my heart. We are alive. Now we breathe together. Ok? On my count..breathe in, breathe out....' ) We went on that way, all the while Honey was asking Karen repeatedly not to leave her. Honey moved her head to face me, peered through her eyelids, cupped my cheek, and said nothing.

I promptly told her Leonelle has arrived and the first thing she said to Leonelle was, 'Haan nak ung-ungtan.' (Do not scold me.) Some of the relatives and neighbors arrived shortly before Leonelle and asked what they could do to help. I thought of an ambulance, and they told me, yes, there was one in the barangay. It came fast, the stretcher carried Honey out of the house to the hospital, with her was Leonelle. I was not relieved, though. I knew it was going be a rough day. 

I went back to the bathroom, and washed Honey's blood off my hands. I did not realize there was plenty. On my arms, elbow. There were tiny splatters of it on my housedress. I do not recall how long I took a bath. I just remember wearing whatever I saw first in the closet, put it on, no jewelry, no make-up. I made a call to Leonelle's sister, Manang Myrna, to tell her about what happened. Robert and I went to the hospital. 

Leonelle informed me Honey was stable, but needed a CT Scan, on top of the usual tests upon admission. The ER staff fussed over Honey, so gentle and careful. Honey's eyes were closed but she was aware of all that was happening. She was ushered to radiology. After a few minutes, the ER doctor told us Honey had fractured ribs. Her pelvic bone xray also showed some damage but  he told us to wait for the official reading. He also told us he is admitting Honey to the ICU, to ensure that she would be monitored more closely. 

I felt uneasy about Honey's condition, yet I remained optimistic. She was a fighter, and I was certain that she would pull through. It was going to be difficult, I thought to myself, but she was going to survive. Still, I sent a message to Manang Myrna suggesting that she come home from work in Manila, as decisions had to be made. 

I went back to the office, and at a little past two in the afternoon, Leonelle  called me. I was in the middle of a meeting. She told me Honey's blood pressure was starting to drop, and that the hospital staff called her to come over right away. I stood, and told my staff that 'I cannot........'.  I could not finish my sentences. I asked that they continue without me. I asked Rodel, a close friend of Leonelle who was in the meeting, too, to join me. I gathered all sheets of paper in front of me and stuffed it in my bag, left the office and proceeded to the hospital.

I found Manang Baring, Karen, and Gina, one of Leonelle's sisters, looking distraught. Manang Baring simply said, 'Ma'am....', repeatedly, her face in anguish. Gina told me it has been almost half an hour that the doctors were trying to revive Honey. I slumped on the benches with her, bowed my head, and prayed to God, 'Your will be done, Lord.' 

The day we all feared has come. The doctors came out from the ICU, wearing grim faces. Gina was hugged by one of the doctors. And we all knew. So I unabashedly wailed, there in the hallway of the hospital. People stopped to stare, but I did not care. Clarissa, another colleague who was there as her own mother was confined, too, embraced me, offered water, tried to fix my disheveled hair. Leonelle came to calm me down, but I pushed her away. I wanted to grieve freely. Nobody dared to touch me while I listened to myself, the screams from the pit of my stomach I tried to muffle came out as continuous sobs. 

Everything happened fast after. And now, Honey is back in her home, in a coffin. 

I find myself looking back on the last hours of Honey's life. And  I think to myself how mysterious God's ways are, really. Honey was healthier than I am. Her blood test results each year prove that. She did household chores with too much enthusiasm, that I do not and will ever have. She worked when she was younger, she once told me. So even at an older age, there was no reason to stop. She was headstrong, but she had a kind and generous heart. She helped, and helped and helped, even if she did not mince words when it was called for. She sought attention as any other elderly woman with no children would, but she did not need to. She was loved, plain and simple. By some divine reason, she was called home. 

Perhaps God thought she needed to rest. Or maybe the Almighty saw that she has lived her purpose, and more. Maybe Tito Kikoy, her late husband, could no longer wait to see her. I am accepting of her death, if only for these reasons. I just need time to understand these reasons because from where I stand, I think otherwise: she still had plenty to offer in this life. But then again, my God's thoughts are not mine, that is absolute. I am certain, however, that I will deal with this loss, not like a walk in the park. I will deal with this one day at a time, slowly, not with every ounce of sorrow to torture myself. But with reliving each moment I spent with this amazing woman, in gladness.