That would have been yesterday afternoon. At 4:27 PM. I watched somebody die for the first time.

At about 2:30 PM, the call went out that my uncle was fading fast. Around the metropolis, Olivareses everywhere dropped whatever they were doing and rushed to my uncle’s house. I was one of the first cousins there. Of course I had already been crying in the cab and was embarrassed that I was already a wreck but, when I got there, everyone else was red-eyed too.

My uncle was in a coma and breathing heavily. Strangely, he looked better than when I last saw him. He truly was a good-looking man. We marveled at how his face remained unlined. We like to think that there is a special Olivares youth gene. Not all of us have it but I like to think that I do.

In his final hours, my uncle was surrounded by family. We spoke to him non-stop, stroked his hair, kissed his head, massaged his legs…

That was the first time I saw somebody die. I’d rather keep the details private, but if my uncle could hear us, he would have known he was loved.

While there was a lot of crying, because my family cannot help itself, within the hour, gathered around the kitchen table, we were already laughing and cracking jokes.

Even in my uncle’s room, his brothers and sisters and the in-laws were casually chatting, having their blood pressures taken by the nurse, as if there wasn’t a dead body in the middle of the room.

At the Mass before he was cremated, my aunts were laughing and hugging in front of the casket and, before they took my uncle into the crematorium, we sang “Blue Eagle, the King” and cheered “One big fight!”, in tribute to him. (My family are true blue Ateneans and, my uncle, even when he was sick, loved going to the UAAP basketball games to watch Ateneo play).

He would have loved it.

I hope you’re resting well, Tito Ed. Good night.