The Longest Trip

This article originally appeared in my old blogsite, twelve years ago.  I tried to edit it to correct some grammatical errors and added a paragraph to explain the persona of my grandmother.  Other than that, I tried to preserve it the way I intended it to be.  This was my way of expressing my inner sadness when she left us.  

The Longest Trip

Posted by Mac on Dec 9, '08 7:35 AM for everyone

 

It was already twelve midnight when my sister and I decided to proceed to faraway Balanga, Bataan because of the text message she received from the ICU nurses ten minutes earlier- that Lola was not doing well.  There were episodes of hypotension and at times, hypertension.   I told her, "Pumunta na tayo sa ospital, walang kasama si Yong (my brother, who was the family on duty that night).  Baka di na natin abutan si Lola.  (Baka di na tayo makapag-paalam)"

(Let’s go, Yong is by himself at the hospital.  Lola might not make it tonight and we may not be able to say goodye)

 

Prior to this, we already had a conversation regarding Lola's condition.  It was not a good one. That Friday, she had a seizure episode and the meds being given to her were getting stronger by the hour.   She was already ninety five and all the medical procedures being done to her might be too much for her frail body. 

 

 

We knew that she had lived a beautiful life. 

 

Lola is a Filipino term of endearment for grandmother.  Our Lola in this story was not our maternal or paternal grandmother.   She was my grandpa’s old maid sister and we took care of her once she reached her senior year and once we felt that she was not fit to live on her own. 

Lola was never married.  The four of us: me, my sister and my two brothers were the only family she had during the last years of her life.  My mom and dad were already based in the US for three years at the time so we created our own version of family with her.  And at 95, she never made it difficult for us in  taking care of her.  She was totally independent.  She showers on her own and would exercise regularly by moving her arms up and down in every direction.  She calls it doing her own “circus”: that was her term for aerobics.  She also had a very sharp memory doubled with a keen hearing ability.  She even knew Kris Aquino and Richard Gutierrez when she saw them on TV.  You could not talk about her behind her back because she would hear it from a mile away, and remember the whole conversation. 

She also liked Nelly's Dilemma and told me once "Gusto ko 'yang kantang 'yan, maganda ang tyempo".  (I like that song, it has a good beat).  Come to think of it, maybe that was her theme song.

On Saturdays I would always walk with her to church and hear Mass with her.  We were like a staple couple on Saturday evening service.  If one of us were not around, people would worry if either one of us were ok. 

 

But Lola was for from perfect.  She was very stubborn.  She never flushed the toilet bowl after using it, and we would always argue about it.   She didn't like being served the same meal twice in a day.  She even told us that her doctor advised her that she was not allowed to eat pork even though she never left the house for the past three years except for going to church. But every time she did not feel like eating her lunch, she would ask our helper to buy dinuguan at the nearby carinderia.  That dish, even though it was made from pork, was allowed by her doctor, apparently (I guess, because she liked it).  But we had no idea which doctor she was talking about.

 

Speaking of doctor, she was also a heavy smoker.  She once told me that she started smoking when she was eleven.  But the type of cigarette she liked to huff and puff where the brown ones, those that most older Filipina women would smoke with the lighted end up in their mouths.  That’s what she did.  She smelled like a sports bar but even though she had never been to one.  And to our astonishment, when her lungs were X-rayed for a routine check-up, it was perfectly clear.  We asked her doctor not to disclose this fact but instead tell her to stop smoking because it was bad for her health.  And after a conference with the doctor, she stopped smoking cold turkey. 

 

Jueteng was her way of life.  This was a game like the lottery, but consisted of only two numbers that one would bet on twice a day.  It was illegal, by the way, which made it more fun.  She would ask our helper to do the dirty deed for her because we did not allow it.  And our smart helper would give us the money and eventually we would collect 500 pesos a week from her gambling problem.  In turn, our helper would give this money to her once it had grown to a larger pot and tell her, "La, tumama ka!  Sa wakas." Grandma, you won the pot! Finally!

 

 

But that midnight, she did not win anything.  We had the longest trip of our lives.  We did not have a private car so we endured a very long tricycle ride that felt like forever.  Every time our cellphones rang, our hearts would jump.   At the back of our minds, we would cross our fingers hoping that the message would not be "Wala na si Lola." (Lola is gone.)

 

At the ICU, it was very painful to hold Lola's hand and feel life in it.  The family conference that we had a few days prior was very difficult.  We felt so immature at the time and felt our decisions about her care needed more guidance.  The four of us, my siblings and I had consulted our nearest adult relatives about our plans for Lola since the doctors were asking us.  Together with my aunt and two other cousins who were also doctors, the decision was to let the natural course of life proceed.  We would stop giving antibiotics, and we would allow what life would give and what it would take.  At the back of our minds, and with pain in our hearts, we knew what it meant. 

 

That night, I was the eldest present.  Lola looked so very uncomfortable on her bed, hooked to the ventilator with a tube coming out of her nose with contents the color of black.  The nurse asked me to sign a Do Not Resuscitate form.  And for the first time in the thirty years of my life, it was so painful for me to sign my own name. 

 

I looked at Lola and held her hand.  I whispered to her, "La, sorry. Pipirma na ako.  Pahinga ka na ha." (Lola, sorry, I will sign this form.  Please, get some rest).  I felt that I betrayed her.  Who am I to impose this on her?  Why was it had to be me to decide on her fate?  But when I looked at her, she was in such pain.  Her eyes half open but I was not sure if she could see me.  Her face was in agony.    

 

I did not know how to react, or what emotions should I feel.  My emotions felt irrelevant and invalid.  I wanted to hold on to her and bargain for one more year of good health, but the longer we allowed her on this state, the more it would be difficult for her to live a normal life.  I was being flooded with guilt.  I felt that my name was on her death but at the same time I am prolonging her suffering. 

 

I did not cry.  I have not cried since she died.

 

Twenty minutes later, even before her medicines were depleted, the nurses called us.  She flatlined.  They called ECG to confirm her death and when I held her, she was turning cold already, and I could feel no pulse, and life was drained from her.  Minutes later, my sister who is also a doctor, requested the resident on duty to pronounce her death as she felt very emotional to do this task herself.  I totally understood her because it felt so surreal.

 

Lola died 1:45 AM December 6, 2008 at the age of ninety five.

 

That twelve midnight, we knew that it was time to go when we received that text message.

 

I would miss flushing the toilet bowl for her, and argue with her after.  I would miss eating dinuguan beside her, while the rest of us would feast on the left-over stewed pork because she refused to eat it.  I would miss our Saturday walks to the church to hear the mass, and it would hurt me so much to explain to other church-goers as to the whereabouts of my usual partner in church.  And when Kris Aquino starts wailing her half cry and half laugh on TV, I would remember her. 

Dilemma.

 

Lola had lived a good life.  It was a very long trip for her, but I thought, it was well worth it. 

 

 

And it is only now that I am crying.

Edited July 23, 2020

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