Gone too soon

I’ve long scribbled notes to go into a column, timing its appearance for All Soul’s Day, or nearing that day of remembrance.

 Perhaps it’s people’s realizing that they are gliding — or, who knows, racing — towards the twilight zone that makes them reflective and sentimental. I’m one of them. How many times I catch myself rekindling the joys of childhood. I think of myself and friends climbing lanzones trees, swimming along cold streams, planting roses in my mother’s garden, listening to the peal of church bells at dawn, and sprucing up Christmas trees. I guess you, too, are thinking about leaving simple will-and-testaments, and writing memoirs that are really important to just you and me. We think of how we would like to die — swiftly, painlessly. And we ask the question, are we prepared to die, are we ready to meet our Creator?

The more practical-minded among us have long made preparations for our demise. We’ve bought memorial plans, indicated a preference for cremation and where our ashes should be kept in which crypt, or thrown. I tell my son to scatter a sprinkling of my ashes on my father’s grave, another on the lawn just before the Silliman church edifice, and to please leave some to sprinkle on my garden in Cavite where for many weekends I romped around plots of herbs and flowers, and read a book of verse beneath the bough of a mango tree I had so lovingly planted as a sapling.

And yes, I have a list of names of people who were and are important forces in my life. My relatives are first on this list, my son and grandson and favorite nephew. And then my friends — the list is long and getting longer as days pass. I worry that I might forget some friends who had given me sweet moments.

I crossed out a name for the sadness that it had brought me, but realized that tears are part of life’s being an exercise in giving and sharing and giving in and giving up. When I am gone, I tell my son, look for this list in my computer, I shall remember to put their mobile phone numbers so you can call them and say your mother treasured your friendship.

On Monday, many of us will be trooping to the resting places of people we loved and continue to love. I remember a scene where I was reciting a eulogy over the grave of a relative of mine, and for the love of me, I couldn’t stop the tears from falling down on my face, and my grandson Santi, just four years old, tearfully sidled up to me and handed me a box of tissue paper to wipe my tears away. Everybody smiled and clapped. It was a beautiful moment.

We think of the people who have gone ahead of us, and their departure is too much to bear. I remember the mornings I spent in my mother’s room in the house of my brother Nell in Australia, those mornings after her remains had been buried. Her pictures showed her smiling, and there were her paintings and unfinished novel and book of verse and essays in the room. I wept because I had broken her heart with decisions I had made, and she was now dead, and I prayed that she would forgive me, and I thought of our moments together as we walked to school where she was my Grade I teacher, when we were planting American roses, and I watched her as she sewed dresses for my sisters and myself and she delivered sermons and sang at church. If only I could bring back the hands of time: I would hug her and tell her she was the most important person in my life. But I am consoled by the poem that goes, “We weep not, rather find strength in what remains behind.”

My mom had been sick for quite some time, but when her time came, it was inconceivable that she would finally leave us. Some of our friends talk about nursing their sick father or mother for a long period, and that drained them of their strength and resources, and it was a relief that the loved one who had been in pain would finally go, but somehow, there would be sadness, and regret, and a feeling of loss. But they would be gladdened by the thought that the loved one was now with their Creator — a beautiful thought, isn’t it?

And we have friends who have left us so swiftly, like the twinkling of an eye. We couldn’t believe it that our beloved icons would go without warning: Cerge, Odette, Pastor Luis. In our dark moments, we ask, why did they have to die? They, who were important in journeys to bridging relationships and bringing us closer to our Creator?

The other day, my partner and I were listening to Michael Jackson singing a most moving song, “Gone Too Soon,” which describes his grief over the death of a beloved friend, who had contracted AIDS from a blood transfusion, and died. Michael sang this song during the inaugural concert for President Bill Clinton.

Below are the lyrics of Michael’s song. You should hear him sing it, and be touched by his love for his friend. Click on the YouTube, and look for Michael Jackson’s songs.

“Gone Too Soon”

Like a comet

Blazing ‘cross the evening sky

Gone too soon

Like a rainbow

Fading in the twinkling of an eye

Gone too soon

Shiny and sparkly

And splendidly bright

Here one day

Gone one night

Like the loss of sunlight

On a cloudy afternoon

Gone too soon

Like a perfect flower

That is just beyond your reach

Gone too soon

Born to amuse, to inspire, to delight

Here one day

Gone one night

Like a sunset

Dying with the rising

Of the moon

Gone too soon.

Gone too soon.

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