Dead and alive

  By Marifi Jara

I seem to have resilient genes on both sides of my family.

My maternal grandmother in Sabangan, Lola Inay, is 93 years old and although her body is quite stooped now, she still walks around and spends most of the day cleaning the garden.

Two years ago, when the senior citizen’s group in San Fabian had a big celebration, she was actually crowned queen, being the oldest woman in our town.

Now she also holds the crown for being my oldest ancestor alive following the death of a second degree grandaunt in San Carlos City last year who marked her 100th birthday earlier that year and the death last week of my 98-year old first degree grandaunt in Cabugao, Ilocos Sur, the hometown of my paternal grandfather.

The death of an elderly (very elderly I should say perhaps) stirs not so much grief for the family’s loss but rather sadness of the nostalgic kind. Remembering is at the same time delightful and poignant.

It is also in many ways a happy occasion because it brings together the family and old ties are reconnected.

More than the Christmas season, a wake proves to be a time for gathering. The dead bringing together the living.

It’s always pleasant to meet long lost kin and catch up on all the years when we lived our own lives, seemingly forgetting about each other; and meet new ones, even if perhaps it will be for the first and last time. And it’s quite fun tracing roots, talking about how life was then, and whatever happened to that cousin, uncle, or aunt.

Several old women in Cabugao excitedly told my mom (and I) that they were in San Fabian during her wedding with my dad in January 1970. My mom gave them a starry-eyed smile and had chitchat with them. She would later tell me that she does not really quite remember them. Memory is quite a funny thing.

It’s nice to see the youngest generation, the children, playing around, happy not to be forced early to bed and innocent of the meaning of death. It’s inspiring to see the teenagers and partly those in their 20s, seemingly self-assured of their invincibility and immortality.

But those of us beyond the calendar days are roused with thoughts of our own mortality and the kind of life that we are carving for ourselves.

We ponder about our own death and wake, and when could the right time possibly be to say adieu to the family? Perhaps there never really is a right time. But there can be a good time.

 

(For past columns, click http://sundaypunch.prepys.com/archives/category/opinion/roots/
Readers may reach columnist at marifijara@gmail.com . For reactions to this column, click “Send MESSAGES, OPINIONS, COMMENTS” on default page.)