Reflections on Death

https://understandinginnovation.blog/2017/01/26/ignorance-curse-or-bliss/

My father died when I was 3. Back then I never knew what being dead meant. What it meant to my father and also for me. My mother told me that while she was carrying me as I look at my father on his casket I kept on asking papa to wake up and get out of the box so he can breathe and not die. Ironic isn't it? That while my father was already peacefully tucked inside his coffin I was adamant that he get out and get some air.

Back then, I never knew the concept of death. I don't know at what age children start to realize that their dead father is not asleep or that he is never going back from his "vacation." That people don't just go somewhere and never come back. And that people don't normally forget how to breathe in their sleep. Those were white lies told to us because back then when our brain could not process the idea of someone being dead especially a loved one.

At what age do children understand what dying means for the dead and for those who are left behind? That it might mean growing up without a father figure? Or that your usual Sunday family tradition will never be the same again? 

I always thought that if I already knew what the concept of death was when I was 3, I would have cried so hard for the moments I could have spent with my father. And the opportunities I could have experienced growing up having a father figure. He could just be as bad as many absentee parents (or sadly the best father one could ever hope for) but at least I got someone to call papa (or daddy if he was able to go abroad and give us a comfortable life). But I was just a child and maybe I would have cried but for other mundane reasons.

I never knew when I finally grasped the concept of death. I remember having to attend wakes of my lolos and lolas to know and understand the dynamics. Watching movies might help but it's not as effective as the real thing.

And as I grew older, the more I understood death the more I fear for it - for my self and for my loved ones.

How ironic can it get? That as we grow older the more we understand death the more it scares the life out of us.

Can we be like kids and never have to fear death and its impending doom because we don't know anything about it yet? I guess ignorance can really be a blessing sometimes.

But growing up made me understand what living really means. And although the thought of death scares me, the gift of life and the wonders and beauty of it outweigh any lingering thoughts I have of its end.