Last Monday evening, at about 7:15, an elder sister finally passed away after a valiant battle with cancer. Some of my readers will remember her as the one I accompanied two and half years ago to Johns Hopkins Medical Center in Baltimore, Maryland for a cancer operation. She didn't even know she had cancer of the pancreas. And when her doctors told her, on or about April 1998, it was like a death sentence. This kind of cancer normally barely gives its victims three months more to live.
But we were determined to fight it and we were lucky that our parents left some resources precisely for things like this. We were lucky too that there was a procedure being done in Johns Hopkins that gave hope to patients like my sister. And it just so happened that a niece was finishing up her medical residency at Johns Hopkins too.
They did a good job at Hopkins, removing all of the tumor using the so called "Whipple procedure." But further tests showed that we were a bit too late. Some of the cancer cells had started to spread. Maybe if it was done a month or two earlier… but there were no symptoms and she didn't know she had a problem.
My sister, Maria Ana Chanco-Sison, was determined to fight and continue living a full life despite her disease. A lawyer, she was valedictorian of the UP College of Law class the year Supreme Court Justice Leo Quisumbing graduated. She was among the top 10 in the bar exams the same year. And from what I have heard, she has had a great career as a practicing lawyer who saw that the ends of justice were served to both clients and adversaries.
Ten years older than I, she was always the Ate Mian who encouraged me in my own career. Among my siblings, she was the one who was inclined towards journalism and she became a role model of sorts. I remember her helping me out with my initial attempts at writing. And when I needed encouragement, specially when Martial Law was declared and I fell into a deep depression at losing my budding media career, she was there to help.
The break from the rat race that I took when I accompanied her to Hopkins gave me an opportunity to think a little bit more about how transitory these things really are. You never really think about such things when you are constantly rushing to meet a deadline, trying to earn the next peso, trying to save your teenager from a life-scarring mistake.
The classical architecture of the Hopkins facility that loomed from her hospital window reminded me that heavy as our burden may seem at the moment, what was happening to us was but a dot in the continuum of time. More important, when life becomes a push and a shove and we are down to our basics, very few things really matter.
And so my Ate Mian got two and a half years more on this earth. She lived it to the fullest. In that time, she was able to take a trip to Lourdes and visit some old friends in Europe and some relatives in the United States. She was able to get her life in order, make peace with her Maker, things we would otherwise postpone when we think we have all the time to do those things later.
But we never have all the time in the world. It is over soon enough and often, as we are just getting the hang of living in this world. At 60, Ate Mian is young by present day standards. Our parents passed away in 1997 when they were in their 80s, and even then, there were still so many things they could still have done. But that's it.
At least when my Ate Mian went on in her journey, she has left enough memories with all of us whose life she touched. I am sure she will be remembered as a dutiful daughter, a great mother, a fantastic sister and from the many friends who were with her to the end, a very fine friend.
Well, my dear sister, give our regards to Mom and Dad. Tell them we miss them terribly. And thanks for the memories you have left with all of us. Saying goodbye to you these last few days was a traumatic experience that reminded us of our own mortality.
And thank you too to all our readers who e-mailed us with prayers and soothing words when we first wrote about her struggle two and a half years ago. Today, as we remember our love ones who have gone ahead of us, we should really stop and think that it really isn't as long as it seems.
Psalm 90 reminds us: "For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night. You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like new grass in the morning – though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered… Teach us to number our days aright that we may gain wisdom of heart… that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days."
"If for an instant God were to forget that I am a rag doll and gifted me with a piece of life, possibly I wouldn’t say all that I think, but rather I would think of all that I say. I would value things, not for their worth but for what they mean. I would sleep little, dream more, understanding that for each minute we close our eyes we lose 60 seconds of light.
I would walk when others hold back, I would wake when others sleep. I would listen when others talk, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream! If God were to give me a piece of life, I would dress simply, throw myself face first into the sun, baring not only my body but also my soul.
My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show. Over the stars I would paint with a Van Gogh dream, a Benedetti poem, and a Serrat song would be the serenade I’d offer to the moon. With my tears I would water roses, to feel the pain of their thorns, and the red kiss of their petals . . .My God, if I had a piece of life . . . I wouldn’t let a single day pass without telling the people I love that I love them. I would convince each woman and each man that they are my favorites, and I would live in love with love. I would show men how very wrong they are to think that they cease to be in love when they grow old, not knowing that they grow old when they cease to be in love! To a child I shall give wings, but I shall let him learn to fly on his own. I would teach the old that death does not come with old age, but with forgetting. So much have I learned from you, my fellowmen . . .
I have learned that everyone wants to live on the peak of the mountain, without knowing that real happiness is in how it is scaled. I have learned that when a newborn child squeezes for the first time with his tiny fist his father’s finger, he has him trapped forever. I have learned that a man has the right to look down on another only when he has to help the other get to his feet. From you I have learned so many things, but in truth they won’t be of much use, for when they put me in that suitcase, unhappily shall I be dying."
May all our departed loved ones rest in peace… Amen.
(Boo Chanco's e-mail address is bchanco@bayantel.com.ph)