We are mesmerized by the silent spectacle of the setting sun. We are awed by the tranquil radiance of the full moon. We are spellbound as we make our wish whenever the quiet beauty of the falling star appears in the sky.

    Before these wonderful things that populate the sky, we stand in silent reverie - smitten, stupefied, fulfilled, happy. Then we wonder:

    How can things of such wonderful beauty create no sound?

    The innocent smile of a playing child. The face of your loved one sound asleep by your bedside. The kilig that melts your heart when a beau looks your way. The graceful opening of a summer bloom. The warmth of the embrace or the comfortable silence shared with a good friend. The picturesque view of a secluded beach or a green ricefield. All these quiet moments scream the loudest of simple pleasure, of quiet bliss.

    Some things indeed - like happiness - are best relished in moments of stillness.

*****

    Silence is all I can get from and give to you...

The scenes were all vivid.  But the clarity of the whole picture was spoiled by the quick progression of the events, like flashes of images in a cinematic dream sequence. Like one big abstract movie, I could not make any sense out of it even until now.

I was wasting my time in front of the computer last Friday afternoon when the neighboring kids came into our yard and made a ruckus. My brother went out and saw them “borrowing” our bike. One of the imps did not seem to hear my brother’s warning and instead, said this line that proved to be one bad news told a few minutes too late.

“Umiiyak si Manunuy, nakita namin kanina,” the rascal said.

Manunuy was how the little kids called my mother. An uneasy feeling seized me, that of anxiety and bewilderment. I told my brother to go and check on her. But I could not stop thinking of what could have made her cry and in front of the kids at that. After a while I decided to see for myself. When I came out of the house, I met my brother. In a low broken voice, he told me the bad news.

I ran to my relative’s house and in there I saw mom. Indeed, she was in tears. In between sobs, she recounted her last ordeal, her voice breaking from the unbearable weight inside her. I could not feel her pain, but I could see it. I went inside the house and finally knew why.

There she was, lying still on the sala floor where her bed was. Her orange daster was a peaceful contrast against the whiteness of her pillow and bedding; any movement would be betrayed by the stillness of the setup.  She was flat on her back, her two frail arms placed comfortably on her side. Indeed, she looked as if she was in a deep sleep, except that she wouldn’t be waking up anymore.

My grandmother had just died. And she did right in front of my mother, her daughter.

Her voice with tinges of bitterness, regret, denial and helplessness, mother described her last minutes with her mother. Minutes before she died, grandmother acted strangely. According to her, Lola suddenly shouted and called out to some unseen entities to take her away, waving her outstretched arm as if reaching out to someone. My mom initially dismissed it as another one of Lola’s topak moments. But an air of fear embraced her and she found herself praying for the soul of her mother. Then Lola silently turned on her side. Mother thought she fell asleep.

At that very moment, I just came home from school. I was resting on my bed when I heard my mother outside saying something to me which I did not understand. She had just gone out of Lola’s house to check our house. Then she went back. Not long after, I turned on the PC. After a few minutes, the kids came. Then the bad news.

In that short span of time, everything turned around. And it did completely for my mother and her sisters. When mom came back, Lola was already gone. Not long after Mom went out to check our house, my aunts found Lola breathing slowly until she passed away.

I don’t know if I would be thankful that Lola did not breathe her last on my mother’s arms. That would be too much for her, considering how much she blamed herself for her death, how much she regretted the what-if’s and what-could-have-been’s of those last minutes.

I don’t know too why I feel very little grief. Perhaps it hasn’t sunk in me yet. Or perhaps it happened too quickly that I did not have much time to react.  Perhaps it’s because I can’t summon the memories I have with my Lola that I can’t feel the bond broken by her demise. Or probably my concern for my mother overwhelmed whatever sorrow that tried to get inside me.

For every goodbye, cry not for those who departed but for those left behind. What just happened might have left a nasty blur before my eyes, but when the picture clears up and these eyes start to cry, I know that the first tears will be for my mother.

Nice if eaten alone. Best if with somebody special.