A Good Death in the Family

Early this morning, my grand uncle passed away. He had fought a good fight against lung and liver cancer for years, but as most will tell you, cancer is a battle that is hard to win. Even if you won, difficult as it was, it may just be the bell ringing in Round 1. Relapses are where they come back stronger, meaner and tougher, and whack you off you feet, down on the ground, and for most of the time, you don’t stand up no more.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Round 2 is over, and so was the match.

I know, because my mom fought till round two, too. But the bell didn’t ring for that round, at least she didn’t get to hear it. We all hear a different kind of ring. The kind that signifies defeat, lost and if you let it, suffering.

Suffering.

That’s one world that my mom drilled into my over the years, especially during the last few of her life. Oh no, she is not one who inflicts suffering on me. If you’d known her, you’ll know she’s gentle and kind, a staunch Buddhist til the end.

What she drilled into me was the concept of suffering, to make sure that I understood it, so when came the day when she has to go, there would be minimal of it. Zero would be idealistic, but mom was more realistic. She often looked at her ageing body, accelerated by the tumours that crept from the darkest abyss, and reminded my siblings and I, that life indeed is suffering.

And the fastest you come to terms with it, the faster you’ll start living life.

She was the one who taught me the concept of a good death: one where there’s minimal pain, and in the deepest places within the heart of loved ones, where true honestly lies, we would all admit that she was better off passing on than staying in a dreadful state.

No, I’m not dramatising words. The last few weeks of my mom’s life was where she couldn’t eat nor drink, and it was so bad that I would wonder if we had been selfish wanting her to be around still.

I mean, what quality of life can one have, when she can’t even drink water?

So on Friday, January 13th 2012 (yeah, my mom sure knows how to pick the date), she went off in peace. There wasn’t much fight, for she has accepted the inevitable. Of course she was missed - still do - but whatever good deed I do moving forward, it was done in her memory.

I quote her life lessons more, her immortals words, her wise sayings, and while she wasn’t a successful entrepreneur, nor an epic adventurer, nor a noble scientist that discovered the cure for life threatening diseases, she was, and always is, a teacher.

Not just by profession, but in life too. A truly teacher, one that would make her ultimate mentor proud, the Buddha, for to many, He too, was a teacher. Some would say one of the best there is, and that was my mom’s aspiration.

I was glad to know that my grand uncle passed on in peace too. There wasn’t struggle, he got to meet all his loved ones, family members and friends. He got to say proper good byes, to get matters sorted out, to reminiscence on a good life.

Ironically, his wake was held in the very same place as my mom's, so naturally, when I was there earlier this evening, it felt like a deep sense of familiarity. Of course my mom has gone, probably living well in another life (she had always wanted to be reborn a man, and to be able to pursue the path of the Dharma, which I like to think she got her wish), but I just can’t help feeling that perhaps she was there after all, making sure that everything was in order for my granduncle to passed on to his next life.

It was only on the drive back that I realised that she was present, in my memory, a strong reminder to live a good life, so that you can earn a good death.

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