The dignity of death

It was one of those “when-women-lunch” occasions that brought together old-and-new friends alike. I waved at an old school mate, Nini Valdez, who greeted me. “Hay naku Letty, what’s happening to your batch? So many are dropping like flies!” I grinned sheepishly. When I made a statistical count, we were averaging 1.3 fatalities per month in a period of eight months. Wakes and funerals had become so common that like a worn uniform, I was automatically reaching for the same black shirt or white dress in my closet.

Our grief, however, was cushioned by a consoling thought that made it easier to move on and begin the process of healing. Our departed friends had found the dignity in dying.

 What is that? Father Domie Guzman of the Society of St Paul’s explained, “It was Jesus on the cross who taught us about death.” Father Domie gave three measures: “Death becomes meaningful if:

You have lived your mission. What is our mission in life before giving up the ghost? I still am wrestling with mine although the most obvious is my mission toward my children and those left under my care. We had been taught that every gift from God has its corresponding responsibility that moves us to nurture and put each one to good use.

If you are a mother, you try to raise your child to find his worth and use his beauty and strength to be the mirror of God’s grace. We shun a life of hate, envy, greed and injustice because they spell perdition. What happens to those guilty of treachery, indulgence and self-aggrandizement? Will they see the writing on the wall? What would it take to have a change of heart and let the goodness in them take control of their lives? When I hear comments like “He cheated death again!” Is this person being given the chance to finish his mission? Should we not take stock of how far we’ve come to fulfilling our own missions?

 You have entrusted or you are leaving something beautiful behind. Father Domie said, “In death, Jesus left someone beautiful and most precious to him: his own mother, the Virgin Mary.” She had intervened on our behalf so many countless times.  

 In our case, what legacy are we leaving behind? Do our children keep a healthy fear of God so that they will not do anything to hurt or offend him? This will include the decency and respect they show others whether in their own circle or below or above their strata. How do they handle problems? Are they pragmatic but at the same time pray for discernment? Are they decent, kind, loving, honest, assertive, resilient, truthful, and generous? When loved-ones talk and reminisce about you, would they remember you for the humility and child-like innocence that you espoused to bring God closer into their lives? Notoriety has no place in your slate.   

You are coming home…to God. In the face of sadness, we fail to recognize that the departed one is again happy and healthy. Our long journey on earth will culminate in a grand homecoming in heaven. You are like a balikbayan coming home to a fiesta, a hot singing-the-blues jazz session, a cool Motown rock concert, a song-and-dance extravaganza that we could not begin to imagine. You will finally take pleasure in doing things your heart longed for, in a wonderland that you had once caught a glimpse of, maybe in a beautiful dream. Misery and gloom will be words not spoken anymore.  

Remember too that in order for us to see and be with God, we need to become a spirit, like him. This gives the most plausible explanation why the physical body needs to be left behind.

It is our spirit — invisible and free — that will enjoy a non-stop, permanent state of happiness.

 For the one who died, it would be his reward; he is reaping honor and respect for living a life patterned after giving and spreading kindness.

 For those left behind, it’s a wake up call. There’s still time to reform. Knowing also that your departed family or friend is now safe and blooming in heaven will help ease the emptiness and take the sting out of letting go. Of course, you will continue to miss him but it’s just a little sadness in an otherwise grand, victorious, and ticker-tape tableau.

 I lost my friend Rosette Hebron to cancer. Before she died, I made a request. “Sette, promise me you’ll come back and tell me what heaven is like.” She laughed and with a lilt in her voice replied, “If God would allow me.”

Last night, I had a dream. Rosette and I were relaxing in lounging chairs facing the calm, vast ocean. I turned to her and asked, “Sette, how is your new home?” With arms spread wide, she sang, “Ang ganda-ganda, ang sarap-sarap!” (It’s incredibly beautiful and so nice). Being light-hearted, I answered something gibberish, “The children will just have to like it, right?” Rosette giggled. “Oh yes! But not yet; in time, they will.” That’s when she vanished and logic kicked in.   Rosette couldn’t have been with me because she was dead. Did she return to give me a sneak preview of heaven? I woke up crying. Rosette kept her promise to me; and God allowed her. “Thank you Lord,” I whispered.

When my number is up, my family, as well as three darling amigas — Chiqui Recio, Jopee Gueco and Rosette — will be dancing and shrieking by the pearly gates creating a riot and making me blush. “Letty, see how we’ve kept your lounging chair warm?”

 Yes! I want that life.