I was reading a novel (entitled, In Pursuit of a Proper Sinner by Elizabeth George) this afternoon and a thought suddenly popped in my mind. How would my parents react if suddenly I or my brother dies? Of course, I expect it to be painful but how painful would it be for a parent to bury his own child?
I guess I would agree that parents are not really supposed to bury their children because I think the older should go first because they have already seen so much of the world. Just imagine burying the child you had reared and cared for all your life.
As I was contemplating on these things, I so suddenly realized that I had never really felt grief before. Though it doesn't mean that I haven't lost anybody before, its just that I was just too young to really know what death means.
When my maternal grandfather died, I was too young to even cry. I remembered him to be an old man (not really that old) who would always carry me on his shoulders, bring me to the beach and sing with me. I was only five or six years old when he died. The year after, my maternal Aunt died but I was still too young to understand what it means. I remembered laughing when I saw my Aunt inside the coffin, I didn't understand why she was inside and I thought it was a joke that they put make up on her when she's asleep. I cried during her funeral but only because I saw my Mama and my cousins crying (hisa-hisa lang!).
My paternal grandfather (one of my most favorite men in the world) died when I was in Grade three. Though by then I know that he will not come back and though I did cry very hard during the funeral, I still did not fully grasp what death is. When the funeral was over, my mind was instantly diverted to things that only a child could appreciate.
The only person in our immediate family to die in my teen-age years was my maternal grandmother. She was too old and often doesn't know where she was. She was sickly and was already 83 years old. I cried because I loved my Lola and I know how unlucky she is to die at that point in time when our family is not at its most stable moment. I know it wasn't grief because I was thankful that my Lola is already in peace. She may not show it but I know she was already tired.
I've lost relatives (all of them by the way, except my grandmother, died of cancer). I've lost a classmate. I've lost acquaintances. But did I ever felt grief? I don't know. What is it anyway?
Except perhaps for my HS classmate Beboy, all of the people I've lost were old already and most of them died when I was still too young to even understand why they have to lie inside a rectangular box, surrounded by candles and flowers. I was too young to understand why people have to stay awake all night and why all our relatives are there loitering in our home.
Funny how a harmless novel could suddenly make you realize somethings you've never actually considered before. I was too young to understand death and now that I am old enough, I admit that I still don't understand it. And so is with grief.
I guess I would agree that parents are not really supposed to bury their children because I think the older should go first because they have already seen so much of the world. Just imagine burying the child you had reared and cared for all your life.
As I was contemplating on these things, I so suddenly realized that I had never really felt grief before. Though it doesn't mean that I haven't lost anybody before, its just that I was just too young to really know what death means.
When my maternal grandfather died, I was too young to even cry. I remembered him to be an old man (not really that old) who would always carry me on his shoulders, bring me to the beach and sing with me. I was only five or six years old when he died. The year after, my maternal Aunt died but I was still too young to understand what it means. I remembered laughing when I saw my Aunt inside the coffin, I didn't understand why she was inside and I thought it was a joke that they put make up on her when she's asleep. I cried during her funeral but only because I saw my Mama and my cousins crying (hisa-hisa lang!).
My paternal grandfather (one of my most favorite men in the world) died when I was in Grade three. Though by then I know that he will not come back and though I did cry very hard during the funeral, I still did not fully grasp what death is. When the funeral was over, my mind was instantly diverted to things that only a child could appreciate.
The only person in our immediate family to die in my teen-age years was my maternal grandmother. She was too old and often doesn't know where she was. She was sickly and was already 83 years old. I cried because I loved my Lola and I know how unlucky she is to die at that point in time when our family is not at its most stable moment. I know it wasn't grief because I was thankful that my Lola is already in peace. She may not show it but I know she was already tired.
I've lost relatives (all of them by the way, except my grandmother, died of cancer). I've lost a classmate. I've lost acquaintances. But did I ever felt grief? I don't know. What is it anyway?
Except perhaps for my HS classmate Beboy, all of the people I've lost were old already and most of them died when I was still too young to even understand why they have to lie inside a rectangular box, surrounded by candles and flowers. I was too young to understand why people have to stay awake all night and why all our relatives are there loitering in our home.
Funny how a harmless novel could suddenly make you realize somethings you've never actually considered before. I was too young to understand death and now that I am old enough, I admit that I still don't understand it. And so is with grief.
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