An empty seat

Each night before going to bed, don’t forget to give your loved ones a hug. You might never get the chance again.

Then all you’ll have left is an empty space in your bed, and emptiness in your heart.

Or, in the case of our deputy managing editor, Alex Fernando, an empty seat at The STAR office.

Pardon me for writing a piece about the dead a week ahead of All Saints’ Day. Alex left us so suddenly last Monday, without so much as a by your leave, that many of us whose lives he touched still haven’t fully grasped the significance of that empty seat.

The days of the dead — All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day — trigger contemplation about our own mortality. We think of all the trite observations: time flies fast and life is too short.

Not too long ago I stood as witness at the civil wedding of Alex and Marivic shortly after they eloped. Later I would attend their church wedding — a rare moment when Alex was forced to don formal wear.

Last Monday I hugged Alex’s firstborn, now all grown up and burdened with the sad task of going through documents left behind by the dead.

This task can be so complicated it can make the bereaved temporarily forget their grief. The dead rest in peace; the living must deal with the coffee party, sort out property and settle the bills.

One can never be too young to prepare for the unexpected. At the height of debates abroad about when to pull the plug on the brain dead, there were people who gave specific instructions to relatives about what to do, just in case. It also helps to have fully paid funeral plans, with relatives knowing who’s the keeper of the required documents.

Someone told me she and her other unmarried friends have made similar preparations, making sure there are at least two individuals in their circle who know where to find the paperwork.

All this makes for macabre conversation. But anyone who has ever lost a loved one knows how useful it is to be prepared for your own departure. It could mean not just your eternal repose but also the peace of mind of those you leave behind.

Admittedly, this is not as simple as it sounds. We like to say that when our time is up, there’s nothing we can do about it. Can we ever really prepare for death?

* * *

Nothing brings home the arbitrariness of life with more force than the death of someone who seems too young and healthy to die. At 48, Alex was no spring chicken; we teased him about male menopause, about his salt-and-pepper hair, about his need for Viagra.

But in an age when 50 is being touted as the new 30, 48 is too young to make an accounting to your Maker.

For those left behind, the shock is greater when someone dies in his sleep. One night he’s stuffing his face with fresh lumpia or spring rolls; the next morning he’s gone for good.

It might be a painless way to go, but the bereaved protest about the pain and unfairness of his departure. Why did he bring us sadness? He should have given us time to prepare. Where was the long day’s journey into night, his rage against the dying of the light?

In Alex’s case, someone simply flicked the switch and the light went out.

And so we walk around Alex’s cluttered desk and swivel chair, still in a state of disbelief, old work habits unbroken. Our news editor mistakenly refers to the guy who is assuming the tasks of deputy managing editor as Alex.

A candle is lit and we have placed roses — red, white and old rose — by his computer. There is a Russian icon of the Virgin Mary; Alex was a prayerful person. Last Monday’s candle looked like the big fat ones we light during blackouts; someone must have simply grabbed the only available one.

Around the office, at his wake, in his favorite watering holes there’s the usual chatter about whether Alex is making his "presence" felt. This predominantly Catholic country can also be deeply animist: we "see" our deeply departed in butterflies, frogs and birds. We smell the presence of the dead through candles and flowers where there are none. We think we sense the dead in a gentle breeze caressing our hair or the mournful howling of dogs.

There must be a pathological explanation for this — post-traumatic stress disorder or some such thing. Filipinos have a simpler explanation: we might not see dead people, but we can sense them.

In fact, there are those who expect the dead to send some message to the living, especially when there’s much unfinished business due to sudden death.

So far Alex has not made his "presence" felt at the office. Maybe he doesn’t have unfinished business with us, except for his failure to say goodbye.

Alex was at his desk every day, never taking a day off except during emergencies. He refused to stay home even when his leg was in a cast, telling us after four days that he was acutely bored at home.

He prided himself in being a storehouse of facts — very useful especially before Google and Wikipedia. Each time he gave us the correct answer to a question about news events of many years past, Alex would yell triumphantly, "What would you do without me?"

Now we are finding out, in the worst way.