Grief Cycle

My aunt's name was Terecita. One of my dad's sisters. My sis and I knew her as Tita Cita. The one time I visited the Philippines—when I was in the 5th grade—we stayed with her family for a good spell of the trip. I remember her kids more. My cousins. The oldest son was named Erwin and his name served as an acronym for the rest of the kids: Erwin, Ronald, Wilma, Ivy and "nobody else".

Tita Cita was a professor at some university. She did research on the nutritional benefits of mushrooms—their agricultural viability in Third World nations. Or something to that effect. Some newspaper article my dad clipped years ago referred to her as "The Mushroom Queen". She delivered lectures all over the world.

I can't even pretend to say that I knew her. She came to visit our family a slew of times growing up, but I probably never had a real one-on-one conversation with her. I had some real conversations with some of her kids. In the past decade, she existed to me in photographs that my dad would occasionally forward. My dad and his sisters. Hanging out by the pool, going to functions. It's coming on 8 years that I haven't seen my dad in person. I don't even know how long it's been since I've seen Tita Cita. I'm the guy who spends all his holidays with other people's families. I rarely see my immediate family and I almost never see my extended family.

Then why have I been a fucking basket case since I heard about my aunt's death?!

Could it be the emails chronicling her slow, excruciating demise? Reading about her family rallying around her death bed, saying prayers, playing her favorite music. Knowing that there were so many people there to offer her comfort toward the end. Who's going to be there for me when my days are over? (The maid in the motel who finds my body?)

It's been so long since I've shed a tear and this weekend I started bawling over the death of an aunt I haven't seen in forever. And I've just been trying to understand why. Because it has to be some flaw in me.

Fear of death. Fear of dying alone. A reminder that Death with a capital-D is making its rounds and sooner or later it's coming for my immediate family.

And me.

I watch these shows where people talk about their near-death experiences and I want to believe there's something better after all of this. I don't know if I do. I don't know if it really matters.

What have I accomplished with my life?

Who do I have in my life?

It's January 2011. In a few days, I turn 35. I don't know what I'm doing.