Wednesday, January 24, 2007

Final Bow

Being moved is a very complex feeling. It triggers something in us that touches our very soul and affects our very lives. Most of the time it elicit tears, goosebumps, and even made us to break down and cry. It makes us sigh, reflect, and it even inspires. It's like being touched by the hand of God.

You're maybe thinking what caused me to say about this things. Well, around two weeks ago I received a call from my mother that my 95 year old grandmother died. Though I know it was inevitable, knowing her age and all of that, I still cannot believe the news. And I felt pain that I've never known or felt for a very long time. It's harrowing, it's excruciating that I cannot describe it in words.

This is not the first time I talked about my grandmother. I posted one before HERE.

I wanted to post about it here before, but I just cannot get my hand to type the right words. I know some of you may not feel as attached to your grandparents the way you are attached to your parents or siblings. Not me. I grew up with my grandmother living next to us. And I learned so many things from her. She has this gift of knowing the right things to say at the right time. I don't know if it's wisdom accumulated through lifetime of hardship and tests, but she always has good things to say even in times when nothing seems to go right. She was a mediator for quarelling husbands and wives, an adviser to many people in our place, and always the one people go when they need spiritual(more of a soulful things, and less religious) assistance and guidance. I sometimes thought that people abused her kindness. And I used to see my gandfather make a fuzz about it. But ever the cariƱosa, she always had things her way.

I remember how kids in our place would gather in my lola's small veranda every weekend to hear her stories. Even grown ups wanted to hear them because her stories were always animated and she never let you go home without something to lean from it.

These things, together with so many other memories flashed back to me upon learning of her death.

A week ago she was finally laid to rest beside my grandfather's tomb. They said you can sum up a person's life by knowing the support you get when you die. and I guess it's true. For my lola was never lonely when my parents and sibling laid her to grave. So many people has given support and the parish church that hosted her final tribute was never enough for all the relatives and people that came to give their final respect. And this kind of things move me. To know that my grandmother has touched so many lives is a feat I myself knew cannot surpass.

I wasn't there. I never wanted to. I didn't want to see my grandmother in a casket-- cold and lifeless. That would be too much for me. I want to remember her the way she was when I last saw her-- contented, smiling, and ready for everything.

A few years from now, people will not even remember how she died... But even how I know, they'll remember how she lived.

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