The defeat of Death

(Google image: Death is only a journey to infinity.)

It's that season of the year again when people gets to remember their beloved departed. There's just that fascinating notion that resonates out of this human tradition where we try to once again relieve the memories of people who have gone ahead of us, and make a subtle attempt at reconnecting with them in ways not seem cognizant of the fact that they're now in a different world entirely.

But we keep on doing this not because it is a time-honored tradition but perhaps it is our own way of sending message to the living that we want also to be remembered when it is already our time to go. Isn't that among our greatest fear, not death itself but to pass on to oblivion and have no one to remember us? What is more tragic about death is when everything we are, what we have worked for, our dreams and ambitions will soon be forgotten after we are gone? We want to be remembered, don't we? Or at least the memories we will leave behind. At least the mark that we have impressed on people. But what kind of memories, what kind of legacy we want other people to remember about us?

I remember the first tragic death in the family that left an indelible impression in me. Trauma to be exact. I was in grade four when my paternal grandfather was sent to the other side. Yes, he was taken from us in the most sudden and most painful way. He was murdered. It is still vivid in my memory what happened that night, the countless shots of the automatic rifle, what anguish and torment filled the air as we try to comprehend what had just happened. Being the observant boy as I was back then, my mind tried to absorb every detail of what was to become a major turning point in my life. I hated guns from then on. I had an aversion to politics which has grown to indifference and utter lack of interest. Although I later majored in Political Science, that is only to primarily understand politics in our culture--politics which has killed some people closest to me. 

The second death in the family was the death of my uncle on my mother's side. I was in my freshman year when his body succumbed to disease. His kidney failed him, and after some weeks of fighting with it, he eventually gave up to multiple organ failure. It was a blow to the family, he was the first to go. And he was very young. He was 35. He was deeply mourned by relatives, friends and many people who said he was such a good man he doesn't deserve to go just like that. He deserves to live a long and fruitful life as a reward for being a good friend, a good son, a good brother to his siblings and a good uncle to us. But he went anyway. And I prayed hard that God will show strength.

I later realized, who can say that we deserve how and when we have to go? Are we actually in control of the events in our life that we can dictate how we will leave this world? Or isn't it true that what we can control is how people will remember us after we've gone? Are these impossible questions?

When a person you love is taken from you, never to be seen again, you attempt to let his or her memories alive by clinging to the past, by recreating their pictures in the faded avenues of your memory lane. And from there, you connect with them. It gives a superficial feeling that they are still here. Alive in our hearts.

And six years ago exactly this day, a death that was to become a major story in my personal history had happened. It was a death that has literally and figuratively shaken me, and rendered every belief I held so firmly to near destruction. It was a death that later taught me to reevaluate the mystery of life and the brevity of existence; a death so sudden and heartbreaking it led me to a point of questioning everything. But I came through with it. I held on to God more after that tragic day, and all the more in the troubled days after that. 

Well, she’s not even a family or a relative, but in her death she captured our senses in ways I cannot describe. In her death, she taught me invaluable lessons that I wouldn’t acquire even if I spend all the time comprehending the grand questions about life. Her very brief time on earth has taught me to look at my own temporariness, my own fading and withering away. Her sudden demise reminded me that life can’t be predicted, that it is complicated in its own ways. I have already written a story about her in the past, but I think a remembrance will be enough for now. And again today, I remember her.

Death is inevitable. That itself is a blaring fact.

But what has death only ever accomplish except the deterioration of our physical bodies, our temporal dwelling. What has death ever accomplish except that it is a game changer and only another beginning. And yet, even in the grave, death is defeated, for our memories will not die, our legacy will live on, and people will remember us. And in the eternal view of things, we are immortal, and we will say with triumph in the end: death where is your victory, where is your sting?

Of this I’m sure: I am not just made for here. I am made to last. I am made to live forever with the King.

(I wrote the first part of this in my journal last November 1, the all Soul's Day. Today was a friend's 6th death anniversary. I'm not trying to be morbid here, just remembering old memories. Yes, memories are nice, especially if they teach you lessons. Here's to all our beloved departed...wherever they are...)