Death is one of the most universal of taboos. Not the rituals of grief, burial and mourning which are many, varied and almost always public in character. I mean the actual act of dying. This most mysterious of earthly transitions is done in private, even for the most well-known of persons, with a few family and close friends in attendance and maybe a man or woman of God around to ease the way.

Public deaths, on the other hand, serve a social purpose. For instance, public executions are meant to be cathartic events in which society extracts its pound of flesh, as it were. It supposedly serves as a deterrent to criminal or aberrant behavior and reflects the manner by which justice is served within a community. It’s also morbidly entertaining and can even be interactive, such as in the practice of stoning or the spectators’ participation in the gory events in the Roman Colosseum.

Other public deaths, such as the assassination of Ninoy Aquino, serve as a catalyst for social upheaval and change.

Suicide is a more complicated phenomenon in which no easy generalizations can be made. It can be done privately or in plain of view others, but even the most secretive act of taking one’s life assumes a public aspect upon the discovery of the body. The act itself is shocking under any circumstance, being so contrary to what we normally know and expect of human behavior. Thus, the ripple effects of a suicide extend beyond the immediate family or social circle of the victim to the society at large. I knowingly use the word “victim” as I believe those who kill themselves are casualties of one or another of life’s events which makes continued living unbearable. However, some suicides are more publicly significant that others.

The suicide of Mohamed Boazizi, a young Tunisian who immolated himself in protest over the oppressive and autocratic rule of strongman Zine el Abidine Ben Ali and led to his ouster, is a public death. It started a conflagration which has spread to Egypt and threatens to engulf the entire region. In 60 years, there has never been one case of a successful, popular revolt toppling an Arab regime; now, within a span of 2 months, two governments in the Middle East have fallen.

The suicide of Anglo Reyes is a public death, as he led a public life which, for good or ill, “shaped and reflected the events of his time“. As explained by Prof. Randy David:

Although he was a professional military man, Angelo T. Reyes became a key player in the nation’s political stage. Whether he welcomed it or not, he unexpectedly found himself, as head of the Armed Forces, thrust into the role of political arbiter during the crisis of January 2001. At that crucial moment, the military became, once again, the deciding factor in an unstable political equation. Reyes made the decision to lead his soldiers in withdrawing support from President Joseph Estrada, paving the way for the accession to the presidency of Vice President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

Having cast his lot with GMA, Mr. Reyes prospered for a long while, even after he retired from military service. He assumed numerous cabinet posts, in fact too many, according to his detractors. This may have been his undoing as he should have sought elective position earlier, and retained some degree of political power and influence, before he was permanently tarred by the corrupt brush of the shamelessly venal Arroyo administration.

Stripped of political influence, he knew that he was vulnerable. He had a thorough understanding of how the political system works—its hypocrisy, its rottenness, and its rituals of degradation. But he could not summon enough will to bow to its sometimes brutal ways once he found himself at the receiving end of power.

And so he ended his life. And this is not always the easy way out, as many would like to believe. It takes a certain amount to steel in one’s personality to pull the trigger.

On a certain level, his motivation was certainly self-serving. He was, by his own estimation, extremely self-assured, even arrogant in the eyes of others. He wanted to regain some control over events which now threatened to destroy him, his family and what he saw as his historical legacy, most specially as a professional soldier. His suicide was premeditated and not an impulsive act, which are how most suicides are seen by those who study the phenomenon. Angelo Reyes knew what he was doing. He said so himself. In his “last” interview he stated pointedly:

Living life without honor is a tragedy bigger than death itself.

He could have stonewalled and gone the legal route in deflecting the accusations against him. Others have done so and lived to tell the tale (as well as enjoy their ill-gotten wealth). But this was not the soldier’s way. As a warrior, honor impelled him to fall on his sword. In doing so, he was successful to some extent in saving his good name and dignity. This is an example which others similarly situated should consider following, for their own sake and, more importantly, for the good of the country.

The tragedy of Angelo Reyes is that, despite his avowed intention to “come clean”, in the end he did not. He lacked the courage to name names and help cleanse the institutions which he served so loyally and bravely. And he tried to minimize his role by saying, truthfully enough, that: “I did not invent corruption. I walked into it“. But he lacked the will to walk out of it, until the only way he could leave was horizontally and feet first.

Be that as it may, the man is dead, and we condole with his family and friends as “Taps” is played today for a fallen warrior.

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There are two (actually three, with John having Him say a matter-of-fact summation of his mission on earth: “It is Finished”) versions of what Jesus Christ said as he suffered and neared death on the cross at Golgotha. The first: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me ?”

Mark and Matthew attribute this to the dying Christ. It has been interpreted through the centuries as a cry of utter despair and fading hope.

Luke, perhaps finding such words repugnant as it suggests a slide into black doubt, says that Christ’s words were actually: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” Modern believers are more comfortable with Luke’s version, as His dying words are more in keeping with common doctrinal teachings that God will look after us and never leave us.

For all we know, He may have uttered both, they are not incompatible.

But I personally find the Mark and Matthew portrayal more realistic, more believable. We can easily relate to it. Who has not, at some dark hour, cried out to the heavens in anguish and pain and wondered if indeed we have been cursed and abandoned by God ? Jesus was a man, after all, and revealed his humanity many times, in many ways. Why not in death ?

Philip Yancey points out that it is this single time, of all His prayers in the Gospels, that Jesus used the formal, distant “God” rather than “Abba” or “Father”. He was quoting from a psalm (Psalm XXII,18), of course, but he was also expressing a deep sense of estrangement. The Son abandoned by the Father. No theologian can adequately explain the nature of what took place within the Trinity on that day in Calvary.

I find this the most poignant example of Christ’s humanity. It brings me closer to Him as we are all, at many difficult times in our lives, children who feel abandoned by the Father. But somehow we are given the strength and grace to surrender and say: “Thy will be done”

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Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak
Whispers the o’re-fraught heart, and bids it break.
-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

I stumbled across a series of posts in Slate by Meghan O’Rourke, The Long Goodbye, on how she has been coping with the death of her mother. It’s one of the most honest, poignant and evocative pieces I’ve read recently on the grieving process. I think her being a poet gives her prose so much more depth and meaning in dealing with this most difficult of subjects.

I have been feeling raw this past few days and could not put my finger on any single specific reason. O’Rouke gave me some much needed perspective for which I am grateful.
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In true show-biz style, Dr. Vicky Belo has replaced long-time legal counsel Archie Fortun for a younger, more handsome lawyer, opposition spokesman Adel Tamano. Atty. Tamano is a Harvard alum and president of the Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila.

A report in the Philippine Star says that looks certainly was a factor. Mr. Fortun gallantly admitted that Mr. Tamano is indeed better looking than him. Adel jokingly said: “Off the record, it is because I am good looking.” Which promptly went on the record.

In any event, Dr. Belo will have the best of both worlds, as Mr. Fortun will stay on as counsel in a pending cases and will be available at any time to handle special projects or whenever she needs a legal pit bull. Not that legal expertise and experience would be lacking on the part of Mr. Tamano. He also has as law office partner former Supreme Court Justice Santiago Kapunan. Adel will likewise be the mouthpiece and public face of the Belo Group, which will give it some degree of class and credibility beyond its current tacky image.

This arrangement dovetails nicely with Adel’s plans to run for the senate in 2010, as Belo’s hefty advertising budget and broadcast media connections will guarantee that he will constantly be in the public eye. A good deal all around.
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Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. In this darkness, Lord be there!
(Psalm 130:1-2)

I have no fear of death or its images, of wakes and funerals and scenes of violence and mayhem. At least this is what I tell myself. If anything, I have gone through a phrase of inordinate fascination with death, looking into the face of it in an attempt to unlock its unfathomable mystery.

Except when the death involves a child and then I am overwhelmed by feelings of anxiety and anguish. And anger. Old wounds I have struggled to heal from are reopened and I find myself flailing helplessly against a tide of sorrow.

A young boy was killed the week just past, and seeing his father trying to find words to express his family’s inexpressible grief broke my heart. He did a much better job than I could ever have done. When I was in his unenviable position years ago, I was struck dumb. It was my wife who stood up and spoke for us.

Looking at his stricken face during the last rites for the boy, I of course saw myself. The messages he wanted to impart were the very same ones I would have wanted to say, had my voice and heart not failed me.

First, of course, was forgiveness from his child for not having been there when he most needed him. It was not the father’s fault. How could anyone have expected that in a school, a supposedly safe sanctuary if ever there was one, lurked death’s grim countenance ? That he said it in Ilocano, the dialect of my childhood, struck an even deeper chord.

He had to articulate it out of love, although no child, wherever he may be, would withhold forgiveness. Like I said, it was not his fault that he was not there.

The next message was to himself. He had been hearing a lot of what people took to be words of consolation, the gist of which is that God works in mysterious ways. By this, implying that acceptance should follow. Well, of course God is mysterious. It’s in his/her nature to be beyond human comprehension. But that doesn’t mean that we are precluded from asking the question “Why?”.

The father (and all those who mourn with him) needs to ask questions if he is too deal honestly with his grief. Like Job, he can praise the Lord’s name while at the same time questioning the iniquity of the tragedy that befell him. Like Job, he can well ask “Why should not my spirit be troubled? ” (Job 21:4). He may not get the answers he wants or expects but the process of grieving demands that he asks certain hard questions: of himself, of others and even of God.

To his family he expressed his gratitude and love in this most painful of times. They need to be there for each other. The support of family is indispensable if one is to gain the strength and courage to grieve. Family is the bedrock and foundation upon which one needs to rebuild a shattered life.

To the community he gave heartfelt thanks and the promise that he will do everything in his power to ensure that nothing like this happens again to anyone.

In closing he said the exact same words that I said to my family the afternoon my son died: “He will always be with us”.

From my experience, the grief journey itself is oftentimes lonely and solitary. One goes through it alone. But fellow travelers will offer succor and comfort during times when the burden seems unbearable.

Gregory Floyd, writing on the death of his son who was struck by a car in front of their house in a quiet cul-de-sac, offers some words of solace and advice on how he and his wife coped with the loss:

A few things we could do: speak the truth in love, show one another affection, and give one another the space to grieve. We could say to one another: We will see him again. This did nothing to ease the emotional pain, but it did enable us to fix God’s truth in our minds. The pain wracked us, convulsed us, made us wonder whether we were capable of any more. Yet, just when we felt we could not stand another minute, God breathed his word into our souls: “God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial he will provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it” (1 Corinthians 10:13)

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Rubens’ Massacre of the Holy Innocents from NationMaster.com

Death takes no holidays. We all know this but it would be too painful to acknowledge it during this season of supposed joy. Sometimes we are reminded of this undeniable truth on a grand scope, as happened during the Asian tsunami of 2004, which claimed an estimated 230,000 lives, and displaced millions. Its 4th anniversary was recollected on December 26 in homes and beaches from Indonesia to India. It is believed to be the deadliest tsunami in recorded history.

More often death arrives on a more modest scale, although the tragedy is not in any way diminished by the numbers involved. Whether it be 1 or 100,000, the pain and anguish can be overwhelming for those forced to confront it. This is even more heart-rending in the case of children dying.

In yesterday’s Inquirer, Randy David wrote in his column about the death of a little boy from a cause which could have been prevented, if only circumstances, or the fates, or God, had been kinder:

While the rest of the world marked the joyous day of the Nativity in homes filled with the laughter of children, they passed the day at the dimly-lit mortuary of the church in Lubao town in the province of Pampanga, quietly keeping vigil over the lifeless body of their youngest child, Gian Carlo, who died from the rabies virus on the night of Dec. 23. He was five years old.

This is not where children are supposed to be on Christmas Day. At age five, having weathered the usual illnesses of infancy, little boys are supposed to be indestructible. A child lying inside a coffin is an incongruous image for Christmas. The child’s father, Rex, could hardly contain the enormity of his pain. “Gian Carlo was my tail,” he said. “I walked him to kindergarten school every morning and waited for him after school. He would then accompany me to work. He made each day complete.”

Sometime in mid-December, mother and child were in a shopping mall looking for gifts. The little boy complained of having a headache. They went home, suspecting nothing worse than the onset of a mild flu. Then the intense itchiness came, radiating from the superficial dog scratch on Gian Carlo’s back, which had long healed, to his nape and head. The boy’s head began to swirl and throb as large beads of sweat formed on his handsome face.

They rushed him to the nearest hospital, but the doctors could not recognize the early symptoms of rabies infection. The scratch from the neighbor’s rabid pet occurred in early October. The dog mysteriously vanished soon later. The wound quickly healed after a few days. Assured that it was not a bite but just a scratch, the boy’s parents did not immediately make the connection. Most Filipinos would not have suspected any link precisely because of inadequate public knowledge of the sources, symptoms and incidence of rabies in the country. People continue to die from rabies because it is easy to confuse its early flu-like symptoms with ordinary ailments. The subsequent appearance of its distinct symptoms—delirium, hyperactivity, furious agitation, hydrophobia, foaming around the mouth, and gradual paralysis—always signals the advanced stage of the infection.

Nothing is more unimaginable as suffering, says the inconsolable Rex, than for a parent to watch a child slowly succumb to death from rabies. The victim struggles against the onset of respiratory arrest. Panic shows in his eyes. And you can do nothing. I believe him. Each time I watch my 8-year-old granddaughter Julia gasp for a little air when she’s having a simple asthmatic attack, I suspend my own breathing. Little children are not supposed to die.

But they do die, at Christmas and other times. In a recent memorial service we attended for bereaved parents, whose children passed away at various ages and from many different causes, someone pointed out that even the first Christmas was attended by many such tragic deaths.

Herod “the Great” was the ruler in Judea at the time of Christ’s birth. He was an unpopular king, being a Roman lackey, and he feared any threat to his power. He killed his wife, his brother and his sister’s two husbands, to name only a few who he perceived as plotting against him. And he took the news of this newborn king literally. When the wise men from the east, whom he had asked to report the whereabouts of the Christ Child, did not report back to Herod as they were warned by an angel to take another route, the murderous king decided to take drastic measures .

“Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time of which he had ascertained from the wise men” (Matthew 2:16). Little did Herod know that the new king and his parents had already escaped.

Thus, the fulfillment of Jeremiah’s prophecy of the Old Testament in the New Testament: “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they were no more” (Jeremiah 31:15).

Which is why the Catholic Church celebrates today as the Feast of the Holy Innocents.

Thus, it has always been. Even as we celebrate the birth of our Savior, we mourn the loss of those who were called home before their time.

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Here’s a moral and religous dilemma which I pray no one would ever face, but which will happen to a fair number of us in the light of advances in life-sustaining technology.

When does death occur ? More to the point, when is it morally proper to pull the plug ?

Motl Brody of Brooklyn, N.Y., was pronounced dead last November 4 after a half-year fight against a brain tumor, and doctors at Children’s National Medical Center in Wahington D.C. say the seventh-grader’s brain had ceased functioning entirely. He was brain dead. His orthodox Jewish parents went to court to maintain the boy on life-support, essentially to compel the hospital to keep him alive indefinitely through mechanical means by keeping his heart and lungs functioning. Under some interpretations of Jewish religious law, including the one accepted by the family’s Hasidic sect, death occurs only when the heart and lungs stop functioning. The hospital argued that its “scarce resources” were being used “for the preservation of a deceased body.”

Orac, a doctor-blogger, writes movingly of the unfolding tragedy from the Brody family’s point of view:

In the case of Motl Brody, the reason there is a conflict is because he has a brain tumor that has resulted in brain death, but apparently some sects of Orthodox Jews, including the one to which Brody’s parents belong, do not accept the concept of brain death, but rather only accept death as occurring when the heart and lungs stop functioning permanently. Consequently, because a machine is keeping Brody’s lungs ventilating and medications are maintaining his blood pressure, they do not view him as dead.

When a child suffers brain death, it’s incredibly difficult for the parents to accept that the child that they love is dead. After all, the child is still warm, still smells like their child (and smell is a very primal sense), still has a beating heart, and still looks like a child. It doesn’t take religion for parents to go into profound denial over the true situation. However, there is no doubt that religion can be a powerful force that can reinforce such denial, but something as simple as a parent’s love for his or her child. Accepting the concept of brain death goes against every human instinct with regard to telling when someone is truly dead. Throughout thousands of years of human history, it was obvious when a person is dead. Now it’s possible to be dead and not appear so, thanks to the technology of the last 40 years or so.

At the same time, Orac gives the convincing rationale for the hospital’s position:

For one thing, no one who hasn’t taken care of a brain dead patient can understand how depressing it is. The nurses know it’s a futile effort, and unless there is a purpose to it, as in a plan for harvesting the organs, the longer a brain dead patient stays in the ICU, the more corrosive the effect on staff morale. Moreover, it’s a huge waste of resources, tying up an ICU bed and costing thousands of dollars a day to maintain. Finally, Arthur Caplan, a professor of bioethics at the University of Pennsylvania, said physicians aren’t obligated to provide care that can’t possibly be medically helpful.

“Doctors are well within their rights to say, ‘We are stopping,’” he said. “I don’t think medicine can become subservient to religious, spiritual or mystical hopes and beliefs concerning how to manage death.”

Motl Brody expired before the matter could be resolved by the courts.

What would you do ?

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Photo from travelchannel.com

Anthony Bourdain of “No Reservations” fame was in Manila to film his show and I wasn’t even aware of it until weeks after he left. My wife knew, but didn’t say a word, not knowing or caring who Mr. Bourdain was.

As always, I found out first from the blogs, notably marketmanila.com and food-stylingmanila.com. I was on the verge of tears and dying of envy of everyone who had a chance to interact with the Great Bourdain. Needless to say, I’m a huge fan of the show and when I got a copy of “No Reservations” the book, around this time last year, and saw that he had never been to the Philippines, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he landed on our fair shores and sampled our unique cuisine.

Well it happened, and he and his crew went in and out the country like ninjas, stealthily but effectively. They had no choice, I suppose, as the resulting media frenzy would have kept him from sampling the authentic grub which was their real objective. And they did their homework, zeroing in on the authoritative people who could give them a broad sampling of honest Filipino cooking at its best during their short stay. Guys like Market Man, Claude Tayag and Gene Gonzales.

Bourdain is the first to admit that he’s a fair to middling chef, with “no hopes of attaining the peaks of Culinary Olympus ” (his words, from Kitchen Confidential). But as a raconteur, he’s nonpareil. And he has the greatest job in the world, being paid to travel and eat. Who wouldn’t want to be Anthony Bourdain ? (Or at least have as sweet a gig)

He was rightfully dismissive of balut, calling it “so last week”. But he appears to have enjoyed all the other dishes brought his way, and this will undoubtedly be a classic segment no one will want to miss.

The next best thing to being there is reading about it in the blogs of Market Man and Anton Diaz.

And here’s the video made by Augusto from Long Island, New York entitled “Philippines: Manila & Cebu” — one of the finalists for the Bourdain FAN-atic contest, with its mouthwatering visuals which enticed Bourdain to come to the country. And he might yet return, since I heard he and his family are thinking of settling down in neighboring Vietnam.
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Today is All Saints’ Day, as the Catholic Church never tires of reminding us, and is meant to honor all the saints, known and unknown, and, according to Pope Urban IV, to supply any deficiencies in the faithful’s celebration of saints’ feasts during the year. Like a make-up day for saints (now estimated to number between 3,000 to 10,000, no one knows for sure) who, for one reason or another, were not given their due during the year. That’s why it’s All Saints Day.

Tomorrow, November 2 is All Souls Day, the commemoration of all the faithful departed, and if this be a Sunday or a solemnity, like this year, it is moved to November 3. This is the day set aside for prayers and offering masses for all our loved ones who have gone before us.

No matter. For the majority of us, these are mere formalities which are conveniently ignored for the traditional commemoration cum family reunions at the gravesites of our dead relatives and friends today. It makes sense to visit the cemetery right after Halloween, making it a de facto two-day celebration. And a celebration it is, complete with food, flowers and good company, including, we’d like to believe, the otherworldly presence of our dearly departed. This is their day, after all.

This day is as much for those left behind as it is for those who have passed on.

As Randy David observes:

I think this is very Filipino. We take time to remember the dead, but death itself holds little meaning for us as a terminal point. On All Saints’ Day (rather than All Souls’ Day, the next day, which is really their day in the Christian calendar), we visit the dead as if they have come back precisely to commune with us. We gather as families before their graves, bringing food, flowers, candles, and good cheer. We reminisce about the times they were among us. We thank them for their love and waht they have done for us. We ask for their forgiveness and continuing guidance. But , though we may know that where they are is where we ourselves are going, the thought fails to dismay us. We seldom, if at all, think about our won death, and for what it may mean for the way we should live.

Like Prof. David, I often visit the graves of my loved ones, specially my son, wondering how much time I have before I join them, and what else I need to do to complete my life.

And what is a complete life before death comes knocking ?

Rabindranath Tagore has an idea (from “Gitanjali” or “Song Offerings”):

On the day when death will knock at thy door what wilt thou offer
to him?

Oh, I will set before my guest the full vessel of my life–I will
never let him go with empty hands.

All the sweet vintage of all my autumn days and summer nights,
all the earnings and gleanings of my busy life will I place
before him at the close of my days when death will knock at my
door.

O thou the last fulfillment of life, Death, my death, come and
whisper to me!

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Gana grieves for her baby. Photo from telegraph.co.uk

It appears that animals, specially primates, have an awareness of their mortality and that of their ilk, and grieve in ways that are strikingly human-like. I’m aware of the hazards and fallacies of anthropomorphizing, but a report in the New York Times shows that even rodents and insects have elaborate rituals when dealing with the dead.

Last week the Internet and European news outlets were flooded with poignant photographs of Gana, an 11-year-old gorilla at the Münster Zoo in Germany, holding up the body of her dead baby, Claudio, and pursing her lips toward his lifeless fingers. Claudio died at the age of 3 months of an apparent heart defect, and for days Gana refused to surrender his corpse to zookeepers, a saga that provoked among her throngs of human onlookers admiration and compassion and murmurings that, you see? Gorillas, and probably a lot of other animals as well, have a grasp of their mortality and will grieve for the dead and are really just like us after all.

Apprarently, this phenomena happens only if there are visual and other forms of contact and confirmation of the state of death on the part of the surviving creature or group, as it is unclear if animals can wrap their minds around death as an abstract concept. So if I go before our pets, I must leave instructions that they be given a chance to view and sniff my corpse. Just for closure.

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