CHAPTER 109:
AT DEATHBED
Diane’s P.O.V.
They said that dying people would always have a clear reflection on how well they lived their lives on earth, from the start until the very end. The question would be, did I really live my life that well? Was I successfully able to do great and humane things for me to be accepted in heaven?
At deathbed, people would start reminiscing about the good old days that in fact, were not really good after all. There were indeed so many lies and betrayals that would prevent us from moving on. A perfect life was indeed a joke.
When you were on the verge of dying, science believed that you would have seven minutes of brain activity left. That was how your brain would flashback memories in a dream sequence.
People went from dreaming about the future but would later find themselves visualizing the past instead. And for that, they missed what is currently in the present.
It was how I precisely felt right now. It was like I had to be completely alone while traveling to a place far away here and not to the exact place I would wish to go. It wasn’t the same place where I could feel free, safe, and secured.
It was a dark and mysterious tunnel where I couldn’t fathom the end of it. I wanted to go back, but I didn’t know how because I just woke up here.
How could I say that I deserved the life that God gave me? And how would I even deal with what would happen next to me? Or was it correct to ask about how I would be able to accept the reality—when my brain was already closed to perceive that one hideous fact from the very beginning?
The whole situation was suffocating me—drowning me into a state of constant lethargy. I was so close to death, and if this would be the real end of me, how I wished that I could have at least lived my life to the fullest.
People lived their whole lives without really living at all. They actually lived to waste their time. And I guessed that people lived their lives discerning a whole pack of lies, then they would die without even correcting those lies.
It was only a matter of seconds, and my life flashed before my eyes.
Muddled, I didn’t know. But why does it feel like my whole life was just a lie, and it was tearing me apart? That a big part of me was entirely gone?
Still, I wanted to get it back. I had a strong feeling that the same lost part would be the one to soon build me up. But it would deliberately destroy me once I remembered everything, in contrast.
Flashbacks began showing in my mind as I felt my body being transferred from one location to another. I didn’t know what was going on around me right now. It looked like my soul was suddenly trapped inside a different dimension surrounded by bleak orbs, and there was no way out!
But apart from this, I didn’t know where to find my physical body. I didn’t have any idea where the hell it was, and the thought was driving me crazy.
Everything else was obscure. I couldn’t see any signs of life. Wearing a white and plain gown, this unabridged setting made me question myself if my soul was intently taking the path to the afterlife right now.
Am I ready to leave my family? Wait, I hadn’t yet bid a proper goodbye to them! I wanted to see them, and I wanted to apologize if it was already my time to leave them. I would like to say sorry for not keeping my promises.
As vague people with unclear faces started to enter the picture, my head hurts even more as if it was being hit by lots of hammers. I opted to get a fistful of my hair and pulled them over, believing that it would at least lessen the pain. But it came to a point that I could no longer move my hands—even my fingers. The hardness in my chest seemed unbearable too.
I could also hear sobs and an enigmatic voice of a man that made him totally different from anybody else. It was my first time hearing him, and I didn’t even know why I felt this way about him. It was like an imaginary bond that I wouldn’t want to break no matter what happens.
It felt like I didn’t know him, but there was a bigger part of me that would like to be with him. And I proved it the moment I heard his captivating voice calling me Diane. It was full of warmth. I wanted to respond, but I could not.
There were so many things that reflected simultaneously in my head and those were trying to get inside my brain all at once. I wanted to open my eyes, but I just didn’t know why I couldn’t open them. I wanted to fight, but I didn’t know how to! Am I going to die? Is this really the end of my life?
No, I still wanted to live and enjoy life! Oh, God… please help me! I wanted to scream on top of my lungs, but I felt like my strength was no longer enough. No matter how much I would struggle to fight, I was slowly giving up.
Then, the first flashback had led me back to the time when I was so young. My father used to carry me in the way that my small thighs were comfortably resting on his shoulders.
We were at the park full of blossoming flowers, and I was happily shouting while gripping his hair around. My laugh permeated the entire area while Dad was pretending to fly like Superman.
My mother was then feeding my baby brother on the picnic blanket. There was no doubt that we were one happy family. I was grateful to see Dad being alive in my memories. But not until the background suddenly shifted into the gut-wrenching scene where he died when I was just twelve, David was seven, and Denise was only three.
Dad was killed in a hostage-taking incident and was pronounced dead on arrival. Mom fainted as soon as she learned the truth. She was then taken care of by our neighbors.
On the other hand, I valiantly went to the hospital morgue to see and get my father’s remains with his friend, Uncle Greco. Being morose would be an understatement to exactly describe my expression.
Still processing the bad news, my mind refused to believe what was happening around me when we came to the mortuary. I bravely ran towards my father, removed the white cloth that was used to cover him, and hugged his lifeless body. It was as if hugging him would bring him back to life.
No, Dad! Please don’t die… please don’t leave us! Please open your eyes… please, I’m begging you! I silently screamed while deeply suppressing my tears.
Being matured at my age, I remembered that it took me two weeks before I cried. My father was already buried six feet under the ground, and still, I was resisting myself to cry. I was only staring at nowhere while counting the days and nights.
Because before his death, Dad would always remind me that I was already a grown-up girl—accountable enough to take care of my siblings and my mother—and of course, big girls should no longer cry anymore. I was trying to put up a façade to look strong until I betrayed myself over. I was vulnerable.
I tried to hold on to that promise I made with my father, but when I started to cry, I cried a river. I locked myself in my room and cried out loud as if there would never be tomorrow. I couldn’t accept what happened to him, and I didn’t want to accept everything.
Why does it have to be my father? He is a good person and there were even lots of bad people out there who much deserved to die rather than him. Why don’t they just die instead of him?
During the last day of his wake, I remembered how some people gossiped about Dad. They chatted about my father being a careless policeman—who was incompetent not to lead an entrapment operation and clear a hostage-taking scene at his hands.
It was actually what made me cry. Dad was already buried six feet below the ground, but instead of being honored, he was still criticized.
No one should be blamed for what happened, but the holdupper himself. The one who committed the crime with threat and violence. The one who killed my father!
The hurt and grief stressed me out until I felt something that contracted on my chest, depriving me to breathe. I tried to catch any oxygen at the place where I was but to no avail. It was the time when I heard a loud beeping sound from somewhere that made me start to panic.