The End

Conchiteen Rondain Alcala “Chatty”

When we are young we watch life begin. Our friends and even ourselves have children and commence the process of building a life and a family. If we make it through the frustrations and difficulties of marriage we reach a short period of stasis and then life commences its most cruel of tricks. 

Life becomes death. It starts among our parents and those we have looked up to. Tragically it becomes interspersed with surprises as those we always thought healthy succumb to the boney fingers. Sometimes I feel like life has moments in the dark when we all stand naked and a dart is hurled impaling an unsuspecting victim. It can seem so random. 

My mother died at 59. So young it has always seemed, especially as I will soon pass 58. It’s funny how as you grow older, old seems to become younger. When I remember her sickly and dying form I can’t believe we almost shared the same age. Early death is the most tragically unexplainable. The kind where there is no reason, no link. No action to blame or no consequence of neglect. 

Each person in your life that dies before common wisdom says they should, acts as a reminder of your own mortality. As we age we increasingly face this. It starts as a trickle, at first it is the odd case of someone passing excessively young. Maybe it is only in their 30’s or 40’s and they succumb to an insidious disease. We all know those cases. For me it was Ladonna Ugalde and Jeanie Raferty (breast cancer), Karen Goeler (brain cancer), Shane McCoy (drug addiction), Kelly Robinson (brain aneurism) and that doesn’t count those lost to suicide and mental illness, Irene Pan, Mai Wa Smallwood, Ken Forsell. I am sure there are many more among those I have lost contact with.  

The next stage is when our elders die. A mother, father, aunt or uncle. Anyone that once nurtured us or guided us at any point during our lives. One by one they slip away and continue to only exist in our memories. 

Eventually we reach our own plateau as those our own age start to fall. It starts as a trickle and then increases pace. With each passing we question our own mortality and our own life. Why are we still here? Are we next? Have we done anything different with our life or is it purely chance. The life we once thought would liberate us becomes captive to our concerns for those that have shared our own existence. 

Death is such an unexplainable thing. I truly envy the religious that can find positivity in their transition. They are soothed by thoughts that soon they will share life with all those that once left them behind. While the thought is as tempting as an opiate induced tranquility my mind will simply not allow me to succumb. The finality overrides any hope of existence and I face the simple thought of “well that’s it.” 

Recently, I received news of the latest of my family fighting for her life and facing her mortality. It came in the story of Conchiteen Rondain Alcala or Chatty as we have always affectionately called her. She came to America in her early 20’s from the Philippines to work as a nurse and has given her life and her body to the service of her profession. In my world the two most saintly professions are nurses and teachers. Both spend their mortal existence loving and caring for others. My mother was both. I suppose that makes her up there with Mother Theresa. 

Chatty is the unlikely victim. She never did anything wrong. She doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke. She loves to eat but so do all Filipinos. Despite all of this the twisting world of genetics seems to have led her to a family disposition of cancer. Her mother died from the disease in her 30’s, her father in his late 40’s. She doesn’t deserve the diagnosis she received but in truth who does. One pain led to another and in a whirlwind of tests and diagnosis she was told she has a tumor in her spine, one in her lung and one in her liver. It’s not fair but what in life is? Suddenly this woman who has spent her life supporting her four brothers, guiding one through AIDS and caring for others is faced with her ultimate mortality. I try my best to put myself into her mindset. Those of us not inflicted urge her to “fight.” Su su! As they say in Thai. Still we are not the ones doing the fighting. We are not the ones that will see our bodies decay rapidly and suffer the torture of the injections of poison and radiation. If they could only find a treatment that made the body feel pleasure instead of pain.  

Often for those married or with children they “fight” for their families yet what is a single woman to do? Do you spend your last mortal days in misery with a tiny hope of survival or depart as the end demands? My mother chose to fight, it left her sick and debilitated for her last few months in the world. I do envy the religious. At least they can comfort themselves with such. Right or wrong, I am not to say however, it must be comforting to believe that you will be united with those you have loved and lost to time. 

Decisions are made in rapid succession and Chatty has chosen to fight. She is fortunate to live close to MD Anderson one of the top cancer hospitals in the world and will avail herself to their treatment. The months ahead will chronicle her battle. 

I always recall the comments of my aging grandfather as he watched everyone he knew die around him. He was from a family of 10+ children and one by one he watched each and everyone of them pass away. Finally it was his turn but not before he must have felt some what left behind. I do not relish this stage in life. Every night we close our eyes and wonder if the boney finger will reach for us. At the same time we lament the passing of those we have loved throughout our lives. 

Bette Davis once said, “Getting old ain’t for sissies.” Never were truer words spoken.