Dying in grace

Dr. Samuel S. Reyes, 54, is dead.

When my brother-in-law Sam died in the early morning of November 14, it was the first time I come to witness how a person meets his death and more categorically a strong man. He pressed his wife’s hand and murmured, “This is it, Mama,” and permanently closed his eyes.

It was a week earlier in what later was his deathbed that my wife, his older sister, and I bade him farewell with the promise to return after reporting to our jobs in the province. He rolled to one side of the bed making his back face us and we left with heavy heart. I knew he did not want us to see the utter sadness on his face as he cried. We loved him much.

This was not uncommon to Sam. When he was in pain on his liver ailment that had developed complications with his other internal organs, he’d shut his eyes as if sleeping and nobody sensed what was happening to him unless asked. He’d change position on bed and ask for a sponge bath for his high temperature and suffer in silence the usual headache and his painful abdomen. A few of us sympathetically sat or stood, whichever.

Whenever not sent for lab tests or having them in his hospital rooms first at the NKI, then at the UERMMH, and they were often, he’d engage us, his brothers and sisters and an aunt and nephews and nieces and other visiting relatives, in eager conversations of every other topic to his leisure. He’d even crack jokes. His mind was always sharp. He did all these in his better mood, quite an entertainment to all of us. Even some doctors would join in, “It’s like fiesta here, ha!” seeing us like willing achovies in the small room.

Oh, how we all approved of the nights at the UERMMH particularly. Another doctor of medicine brother-in-law, younger of course, slept with me on the floor. We felt we were doing something for Sam even this least. But really, all was labored by his wife who even dozed sitted in quicker naps at his side more ordinarily. What a loving, devoted wife, I thought of Penelope in Odyssey.

One time in the morning, it occured to me that my limbs were getting heavier due to much food. I’m a happy eater. So, I had my pushups on the floor when Sam called on my 20th, “Stop!” He was worried of me as he did on all of us. Just imagine a very sick man thinking of other’s welfare.

On days in weeks we prayed. Neither his weak and tortured body nor his momentary relief showed signs of isolation from his religious beliefs. I even wondered on the influence of his being a lay minister at the “Our Lady of Peñafrancia” Basilica Minore at Naga City: it gave him a good measure of strength.

And somewhere in sleep according to him, the Holy Virgin as we fondly call “Ina” in Bicol clutched his hand twice while leading the way. To this his wife begged him to supplicate not to take him just yet. He did not respond at all.

Sam was a great loss to many if his amazing medical skill was considered and to countless unnamed more who could not pay him in return. I thought this was enough for God to keep Sam alive; I was wrong.

In his last hours, I learned from him forgiveness, piety and accceptance and endurance. I came to read him like an open book. Is it because he passed away in grace?