Coffee and Cigarettes

The death of a family member isn't a pleasant topic and it's hard to write about it as it is to read. Last Saturday morning, November 8, 2014, my grandfather died. He was already very old and his health had been steadily deteriorating this past year. His body could no longer fight back the infections and he died of septic shock. He was ninety-one. He was laid to rest today.

Regrettably, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't know him as well as I should have. We weren't particularly close on a deep, personal level but with such a large family and many more extended family here and abroad, I was a little further out of the ring, if you know what I mean.

My fondest memory of him was when I was still a little kid. Every afternoon, he would sit at the dining table for merienda and would have a cup of coffee. He would sit me on his knee and bounce me up and down like I was riding a horse. "Cigarette! Cigarette!" he would say it like a "giddyup". I think the reason why he said this was because I wanted to try things I was too young for and he was probably mimicking me trying to ask him if I could try a cigarette. Cigarettes were a no-no for a kid of course but he would let me try a sip of his afternoon coffee. This was a treat since I considered coffee to be a drink for sophisticated and mature adults. I tried it only to find the coffee too hot and bitter. I think I burned my little mouth but hey, adults could take it so why couldn't I? I thought. Nevertheless, he would let me try it if I wanted. It all seems so long ago.

But what I can say about my grandfather as a person was that he was the sort of man that had an aura about him that commanded respect. He was a lawyer and being a lawyer in the days of old Cebu meant that his name and reputation carried a lot of weight.

He was cautious and protective of his family. He was also a conservative and frugal man who was not given to the excesses and needless extravagance that befalls the nouveau riche of today. Yet, he knew the value of generosity. He was a noble and magnanimous person who helped a lot of people in his lifetime. And I mean a lot. He had a practice of repaying people who gave him personal service or even for no other reason that he wanted to, by sending them or their children to school. This included assorted cousins and relatives, even helpers, drivers, clerks and messengers. Such was his wisdom that he knew that education was a more lasting gift than something as crude as money. Many of those he sent to school have moved on to have successful careers and well-off families because of his kind spirit. His liberality made him a figure worth emulating. You don't see that kind of openhandedness in today's society; everything has strings attached nowadays.

Come to think of it, that's the image of my grandfather that's stuck in my head. He was an upright man of virtue who had a higher sense of morals than the common man. Though he seemed distant at times, it wasn't because he didn't want to be bothered but because he was busy working to make things better not just for his family, but for everyone else.

Reminiscing now, I remember the day my youngest cousin met him. It was one of the last times the family gathered together before he was bedridden. One of the last things he said to her before he became too sick to speak was a poem. He always had these sayings, jokes or figures of speech. I have no idea where he heard it, but I'm sure it was an amusing story. The poem went like this:

Drink hot coffee, drink hot tea,

Burn your lips and think of me 

I'm older now and I drink my coffee every morning but I think I'll always look back at those carefree days with my gentle, bespectacled grandpa and the little kid playing adult.

Goodbye Pig

Today, I had my dog put down.

For the past three or so days, Jackie couldn't walk. At first, I thought something was just wrong with one of her legs and that it would be better after some rest. It didn't and she became unable to lift herself up on all fours. She developed a nasty pressure sore on her elbow that looked like a crater.

She wouldn't eat. I had to hold her up on the grass to get her to do her business but then it just became too stressful for her. One evening, while trying to help her urinate, I slipped and couldn't catch her in time. She fell sideways into the mud but the worst part was that she had this look of exhaustion and resignation on her face and just laid there not even trying to get up. I took her in and placed her on soft mats.

She spent her last days laying down. Her cries kept me up at night. I would go down and turn her over to ease the pain and prevent another sore. She tried hard to get up but couldn't seem to twist her hip. We tried to comfort her any way we could. We gave her water when she was thirsty and cleaned up after her. As the days went on, she cried more and more but she didn't want anything to eat or drink. She would quiet down only if somebody would stay with her and pat her head. It seemed that the loneliness was worse than the hunger. Perhaps dogs are more human than I thought.

The vet said that all he could offer were painkillers but that would only delay the inevitable. Truth be told, Jackie was a very old dog; twelve years old in fact. This was not unexpected but it seemed to all come so suddenly. The vet came over and after his assessment, told me it had to be done.

I didn't want to see it but I felt compelled to stay. I patted her on the head gently as the doctor used the first syringe. I patted her as she trembled a little. The doctor assured me that the procedure was painless. I left when they used the solution that stops the heart and went to my room instead. I'd be lying if I said I didn't cry. I did. I couldn't help it. I cried alone in my room as I always do in  moments like this. I thought I wouldn't. After all, Jackie was just a dog and that she was a very old dog. Still, it was a truly sad and pathetic sight to see.

We buried her underneath a Kaymito tree in a shady part of the yard. The place was a bit overgrown but peaceful and cool. A stone slab and her bowl are all that indicate her final resting place.

Do dogs have souls? My mother believes that when an illness is about to afflict a family member, the dog heroically absorbs it instead. A wives' tale but a comforting thought. I feel regret that I took Jackie for granted many times and that I wasn't the best dog owner in the world. But then again she was a simple dog. She was lazy and thought that the best thing in the world was to eat food. That was easy to satisfy of course, especially since I am of a similar mindset. She would practically eat anything you offered her. My mother and I called her "The Fat Pig", joking that she was a greedy omnivorous pig disguised as a dog. Once, I gave her a banana and she ate it. She would even eat the bland Tambis fruits if you gave it to her.

I miss her already.

At least her suffering is over and that there's no more cries of pain but I think I'm still going to have a hard time sleeping tonight.