“Well, Greg, I think that it just means that even after somebody dies, you can… you can still keep learning about them, you know, their life. It can keep unfolding itself to you just as long… just as long as you pay attention to it.” ~ Jesse Andrews, Me, Earl, and the Dying Girl
There comes a moment in life when you face the reality of impermanence–a state in which nothing good will ever last. It feels like you’ve hit a brick wall and you can’t move on. For the majority of us, we live in this world in which we are blindfolded by the mundane–a sense of normalcy and comfort. It is in this world where we abide by the rules and are a slave to the pendulum of routine. It seems, for the most part, that it’s hard to escape–and maybe for some, even impossible. But change is bound to happen–whether you want it or not. And it is that moment of change where you are faced with making a decision: Do I face the reality? OR Do I turn away from it? Change can transform your life in mere seconds, minutes, hours, years, but ultimately, it is your decision on which course of life you are to take once that change occurs.
It’s been three weeks since a change occurred in my life, where I faced this reality of impermanence. It’s been three weeks since I’ve referred to her as a living being and not a past tense. It’s been three weeks. Three weeks of pain, regret, tears, laughter, self-doubt, and pure sadness. But in the midst of all this negativity, I find myself searching for little pieces of her and trying to put her life story together–trying to find a way to guard my memories of her in my head. I’m always afraid of forgetting her, because for the last months of her life–I’m sad to say, I was in a state of denial. I thought she was going to get through, because she always did. She got through all the hardships on her own. She got through pancreatitis. She got through her quadruple bypass on Valentine’s Day (ironically). She got through dialysis. She got through chemotherapy. All she needed was to get through cancer. And little did we know, the invincible will eventually be conquered. But this is not a post in which I tell you how she died, but how she lived.
Tita Leah.
The woman who I thought was unbreakable–the one who got through life with her relentless spirit and stubborn attitude. I grew up fearing her, because she gave you tough love. Yet despite my fear, I grew up in awe of this woman. I grew up knowing this woman as someone who was an unstoppable force and if you had known her, you would have agreed.
Family and nursing were Tita Leah‘s vocations. Family and nursing were her constants. In a sense, it was what guided her to create the life that she had lived so well. It was these two constants that created a life full of love, laughter, travel, wonder, and excitement. It was these two constants that drove her to make the decision to uproot herself from everything she knew and loved in the Philippines to move to Houston, Texas. This is where she acquired a refined taste for life–where she learned how to enjoy the moments and not things and where she learned how to keep going no matter what life threw at her. It was in Houston that she decided to make the drive up to Toronto with her cousin where she began a job as a nurse at Sick Kids. And that drive up to Toronto…forever changed our lives as a family.
She was so dedicated to her job as a nurse. She worked at the Oncology Unit at Sick Kids–where every day was something different. It takes a particular type of person to be able to be open about death and to be able to deal with it the way she did. She this for 25 years. 25 years of caring for children that endured more pain than an average person in a lifetime. 25 years of caring for children, not knowing whether or not they would make it. 25 years of consoling parents during times of grief or helplessness as they watched their child endure countless treatments of chemo and bone marrow transplants. 25 years of putting a brave face on to reassure parents that everything was going to be OK. 25 years watching death come and go. This was her 25 years of normal. She woke up and did what did she had to do, and might I add, she did it all of it effortlessly.
Despite her job, her other life was that of a loving daughter, sister, a beloved aunt, and that crazy cousin. She was the person who loved to be in the company of others. She was the person who would take the initiative to bring people together through food and through life chats. Whether you wanted her company or not, she was always there–for almost all your life’s milestones–she would be there, celebrating with you. She was always one of the first people to call for your birthdays and she almost always bought the cake. She would be the first one at the party and then the last one to leave. She was just Leah. And though she had her flaws–she was one-of-a-kind and I miss her terribly.
At the time of her death, little bits of her life unbeknownst to us were revealed, as we mourned her loss. And you know what? It brought about a sense of comfort, because we felt as if she was still around–through everyone she encountered. And that was the most beautiful thing about her death–it brought us altogether, to celebrate how she lived. People laughed, people cried, reminiscing of the days gone by. We were so astounded to meet people from all four corners of her life to express how much they loved her and how much they would miss her. And we were so grateful for all their support and all their love that they brought to us that day we had to say goodbye. It showed us as a family, that we are not alone in our tears and in our pain. The people that she loved terribly and wholeheartedly–the nurses who cared for her, the colleagues that she came to know as her friends and work family, the cousins that she loved like her sisters, and the family that she never stopped loving–were there to guide and to usher each other into our new normal. A new normal without her–her unexpected visits, her crazy life advice, her laughter, her moments of insanity, her quirkiness, her bold choice of words, her tough love, her wisdom and most importantly, her company.
Tita Leah , without you, we wouldn’t have known what it means to be a family. Without you, we wouldn’t be the people we are today. And I wanted to dedicate this post to thank you for everything. You brought opportunity, inspiration, stories, everything. And I know that a life without you will be different, but I’ve made my decision. I am not going to let your death bring me down. Change has occurred, but I know that I must embrace it. Because at the end of the day, I know your life’s story will inspire us to be bold, to be resilient, to be brave, to love selflessly, to travel, to take risks, and most importantly to live. We will all live in memory of you.
I love you, I love, I love you, Tita Leah. May you rest in peace.
Maraming Salamat,
A Moreno Blogs 