Choosing to Age Alone

Song of the Moment: Don’t Look Back in Anger by Oasis

This morning, my mom and my grandfather weren’t at their usual seats for breakfast. I asked my dad where they were, and he told me that my mom accompanied my lolo to the hospital to get a check-up. “Oh okay.” And there was silence --- not the uncomfortable kind, but the kind that only means we’re both thinking of something at the same time, but it would be rude to say it out loud.

This is the nth time my lolo was brought to the hospital. But the truth is, my lolo is not really terminally ill. He’s 87 years old, but he still has sharp hearing. He recently underwent a cataract laser procedure; so technically, his eyesight’s better than either of my parents’. He can still walk around, even go to malls on his own. There’s really nothing wrong with him, physically.

But he is an emotional wreck. And he’s been wanting to die for several years now.

I’m not privy to a lot of details in his life. In fact, I’m only discovering major things about him lately. Like the fact that he never got married, by choice, but fathered several children nonetheless. Or the fact that he would leave the house to wander about, and come home whenever he wants to. Or the fact that he cohabited with a widow and her son, but still expected one of his daughters to support his new lifestyle, his “new family.” After hearing about all this in my adulthood, quite frankly, I feel a certain sense of ingratitude and detestation for all these poor decisions he made --- that all these selfish choices probably left a lasting impact on how my mom suffered in her life. But a part of me also feels pity, because it is likely that his fatalist attitude is an effect of deep-seated REGRET. He is after all genuinely a good man… but it just so happened that his goodness was tainted with indifference, selfishness and low self-esteem.

I know he suffers. And lately, it’s no longer about suffering silently, but a rather boisterous anguish, if you may. So much is his display of despair, that he has been labeled a nuisance to the family. Every time, he cries out “Bring me to the hospital, I’m not feeling well” or “I am about to die” at the wee hours of the morning, we all know he’s not really dying physically. As such, most of my relatives, who are caught up with the daily toil of their lives, have stopped responding to his “The Boy Who Cried Wolf” mood swings. Why is he doing this? Could he be tormented by his regrets? Could he be carrying the pain of not being able to forgive himself? I’m not exactly sure. My theory is, he has become so intent on giving up on life that death is the switch to instant bliss. It appears as if he wants to let go of any possibility to make the most out of this life. He doesn’t see any purpose in turning around something so deeply flawed.

My dad has been urging him to stay positive --- to look at the world and admire the beauty of trees, flowers, technology. He has even encouraged him to go and offer service to the church, just so he can still find something in his life worth living for. His only retort is, “How can I appreciate life if I am no longer healthy?” Or “I have nobody left to turn to in my life.” Sigh. It’s really more difficult to talk to someone who’s not willing to listen.

My grandfather is choosing to age alone, even if he insists that the world has turned its back ON him. He insists that his sons and daughters have abandoned him entirely, whereas they are just really living their own lives as to be expected. He believes that his health is failing him, even if his body is still in tip-top shape. It’s a pity that he has let his mind trick him into being much incapacitated than he really is. It’s a pity that he only sees his suffering amidst the problems of the world. I hope that he will learn to look at the world in Technicolor again. I hope he will start choosing to engage with life. And for the rest of us, I hope we’ll always choose to age with the world and not without it.