On June 24, 2006 at 1:30 PM EST, Amah, our 93-year old paternal grandmother, passed away.
Or should I say, moved on.
I'd have to agree with my Dad when he said that, the mood around his mother's death is strikingly different from when his father died over 10 years ago. I could still remember how he -- our family shield -- broke down after receiving the news over a long-distance call from his older sister, who lived in New Jersey. Angkong (Fookien for paternal grandfather) finally gave up the fight after a long bout with tuberculosis. He died in a hospital, which traumatized Amah enough to never set foot in a hospital again for several years after that.
She was forced to, when she started suffering from breathing problems and other things that really old people's bodies gave in to. (It must be the East Coast air. Too cold, my mom would sometimes say. Well, of course, she was suffering from something else that she blamed on the coldness of the Atlantic East Coast.)
When my mobile phone rang a little after 1:30 AM (Manila time), and I saw a long series of zeroes on the call register, I thought, "Please don't let this be Cupertino, not any emergency work stuff!" I was on a hideaway vacation in Bataan, for heaven's sake!
"Hello?", I said, trying to be as awake and accommodating as I could sound.
"Achi! It's Eli!" My younger brother, thank God; it's not work. "It's Amah, she just died!"
"What?!!"
"Just a few minutes ago, 1:30 PM."
"Where? What happened?" I'd have to be honest, though, that at this point, I was a little giddy.
"They're at Dikko's house. All of them; Papa, Mama, Sipeh, and there's this medical team..."
"Where are you?"
"We just got home. It's just me and Harold here. You're the first one we called. We still have to call Ahya Junjun, Achi Stephanie, Avelyn..."
"What happened to Amah?"
"Well, actually, this whole week, early this week, she started having trouble breathing. I mean, yeah, she's been having trouble breathing and all, but it got worst this week. They've all been here for a couple days, taking care of her, and then today, while Dikko was cleaning her up in the bathroom, that's when it happened."
"What?"
"She just collapsed, I think. I'm not too sure about exactly what happened. There's a lot of people over there now, so Papa told us to go home instead."
A few seconds of silence. Not disbelief.
I said, "Well, I'm glad it's over."
My brother agrees. "Yeah, she's been having such a hard time."
"And we know for sure that she's going to Heaven already. She's already a Christian."
"Yeah, that's the best part. It's amazing, all of Papa's prayers were answered."
When Angkong died, he died a bitter, sarcastic, godless man who thought that life is only as good as it gets. No wonder that Papa grieved deeply and prayed fervently for Amah's soul.
And she was 93. A full life indeed. She lived to see all of her children grown and independent. She saw her grandchildren get married. She got to see up to the fourth generation of her family.
And it all ended with a glorious entry into the Kingdom.
At first, you would think that such a timid, unassuming lady would be uninterestering. I myself am guilty of that. But after spending at least a year living with her, she is actually such a colorful character!
Amah, fluff up a pillow for me up there when I finally get to go home, too.
