The Day After My Birthday

The day after my birthday, my grandma died. She's my dad's aunt, the last of my late grandma's sisters. She had cancer.

I remember the time when we first learned she was sick. The doctor couldn't tell her, so my dad and aunt had to do it. She said she was ready to hear anything then, but when she was told of the situation, she was so scared. She felt too weak just hearing that she was sick.

Despite that she wasnt told about what the doctor really said---that she only had a few, VERY FEW, months to live--she was the one who kept repeating it. She kept saying she wasn't going to probably live that long and would rather just let it be.... like she wanted to die right then. She wanted to stop all treatments. She didn't want the cure.

But of course, no one listened to her. She was admitting defeat. Not good. Very wrong. But we all fought for her and kept lifting her spirits up. We wanted her to go on with that fight. Miracles do happen...and that's something that I personally believe, having had my own near-death experience when I was four years old.

When I was four, I died for about fifteen minutes. My heart stopped beating. I used to write endlessly about this before. I kept telling it to friends a long time ago. But I got tired somehow. But everytime something like this happens...everytime death waves its eerie wand indicating its near presence at any place, I remember my experience. There were white lights and people crying around me. And I was sitting on the hospital bed just looking around. I never really understood what was happening. But that is all I could remember of it.

So everytime someone gives up on life and seemingly welcomes death with open arms, I clench my fists. I hate to hear something like that. Life is too sweet to give up on...even if death is starting to do the cradling.

Dying must be a weird experience. I am always boggled by how much time it actually takes to lose our life. A nanosecond? Shorter? I dunno, but maybe it happens so fast, the body doesnt even realize whats going on at that instant. See, I died....for fifteen minutes... but I cant even explain what happened...or how it happened. It was called clinical death. But I came back with more sense. I came back and now I regard life with more significance.

I know there's eternity. Life doesnt really stop at death. But how do these things really happen?

Anyway, my grandma fought. I know she didn't want to, but she did fight. And for that, I'm proud of her.

When she was getting weak, we were all kind of accepting that she might not be with us for long. But I was going to have my birthday. I prayed that she won't go on my birthday. I didnt tell it to her. I just whispered it to God. And God must have granted my wish. She took her the day after.

Her fight isn't over just because she lost her life. She wasn't defeated... because I'm here writing about how she fought. She fought with so much courage. She fought with love. She fought with a smile. She fought. And all our fond memories of her and lessons she taught us will live on. I must have written this line a couple of times before, but despite that I can never really explain how she actually fought, the world will know through me...and all the people who love her... that death never really won.