Vilma was our third classmate to have died in a span of two years. The two others were Delia Martos and Rogelio Florentino. Jim did not provide details of their deaths but Delia was said to have passed away shortly after attending our class reunion - which Jim, Melba and I failed to attend - last April. It is sad and unsettling to learn about the demise of old acquaintances whom you haven't seen for a long time. It reminds me of life's impermanence and uncertainty.
The news of their death made me hark back to our high school days, which were among the most memorable times of my life. Those were the days when we don't have to worry about making a living and sending children to school. Those were the days when we chase dreams like they were rainbows in an open sky. Those were carefree days when we enjoy living in the vivid colors of our youth.Jim's e-mail, sent to several classmates, carried a reminder for us to take care of our health, especially "if we ourselves do have personal health issues, minor or major ... to prolong our stay in this world ..." At 68, I still feel young. I don't have hypertension or rheumatism, not even arthritis, that are often associated with old age. I still work, although at times I wish to retire but can't because, having married late, our 14-year-old daughter is only in her second-year of high school.
But Jim's advice reminded me of how ephemeral and uncertain life is. It made me recall the sudden death of a colleague at the Saudi Gazette where I still work. A health buff who did brisk walking at night, he succumbed to death a few weeks after he was diagnosed of leukemia, which he never had suspected until he felt recurrent headaches and frequent feeling of fatigue. The diagnosis came too late.
Vilma died a few weeks after the well-known British writer Christopher Hitchens died of pneumonia, a complication of esophageal cancer at the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, Texas. Hitchens' death summoned back the poem "Death the Leveller" by James Shirley which we took up in our literature class in high school. The poem tells us that whether we are king or slave, famous or not, we are equal in the hands of the scythe-bearer and that our pursuits for wealth, power and fame are meaningless."The glories of our blood and state/ Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against Fate; Death lays his icy hands on kings;/ Sceptre and Crown/ Must tumble down,/ and in dust be equal made/ With the poor crooked scythe and spade," says the poem in its opening lines.
It ends with "The garlands wither in your brow./Then boast no more your mighty deeds!/ Upon Death's purple altar now/ See where the victor-victim bleeds/ Your heads must come/ To the cold tomb; only the actions of the just/Smell sweet and blossom in their dust."
The Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible carries the same theme: all our worldly endeavors are just like "chasing the winds". Shakespeare tells us a similar message in Macbeth: "Life is but a walking shadow, a poor player/ That struts his hour upon the stage/ And then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury/ Signifying nothing."
Death is a brainchild of life. Without life, there could be no death. But why should we have to undergo the cycle of birth and death? I heard or read somewhere that life is like a seed - it has to die to be able to grow a new life. Of course, that does not explain the mystery of life and death, which probably could only be unraveled in the afterlife.
