We live as if we live forever. It takes a death for us to face up to what is essential; in my case, three. I go personal on this essay.

Nat was our corps commander in high school – tall, respected, dedicated and armed with a booming voice. He went under the knife a few months ago for gall stones. Twenty fours hours post operation, he was dead. It was supposed to be a routine procedure barring questions of negligence or medical practice. (The medical practice bill is one of the many pieces of legislation languishing in the bombed out Congress.) His sudden death compelled the rest of us to gather for our long overdue reunion only to find that two others died before him, one of heart attack and the other, of lupus. Our yearbook can only be thinner in the years to come.

Chito was an athlete and a coach in college. He was one of those guys who could literally go around the oval for 24 hours non-stop. Based in California, he suddenly fell in the middle of the field last March. He was quickly diagnosed with cancer in the thigh; the exact medical term escapes me but not the memory of his cheery and weary voice when I phoned him. He died in October after being given six months by his doctors. He leaves his wife and young kids. Marketers announce their latest investment products and financial institutions bark their dizzying returns. One Sunday, batch mates came together for an alumni mass and cafeteria lunch. Careers and personal lives have been great for most of us since coming down from the hill save for the tragedy of life.

Diku was our favorite uncle, always playful and never scolding. He was the one we ran to listen to stories and to catch up on the latest on the family. A normal working day found him asleep before midnight never to awaken. At 60, he joked about getting his senior citizen’s card at last. He never got to use it in spite of the good intentions of the damaged Congress. We ought to keep all our documents in order and filed away lest the bureaucrat, insurance and tax man taketh away. Better yet, make a dry run from the hospital and medical requirements and expenses, to the memorial plan and burial plot, to claiming benefits and reimbursements deadlines. The clan bonded under the cloudy skies, amidst the serene grass. As our parent’s generation age, we ask ourselves: how do we prepare for the next death? Do we ever? A week after, a baby was born into the family.

Corruption, infidelity, pride and sloth – our central themes in our daily existence. Scandal after scandal for riches and more riches; infidelity to our oath, promise and commitment for pleasure and more pleasure; pride in our achievements and positions for glory and more glory; sloth in our engagements and in our rituals for less reason and no reason. We have no control over anything significant actually and yet we continue to hoard and treat one another with charity befitting a mouse. At least a mouse shares his cheese.

The merry season is here with all the parties and the happy fellowships. Gifts abound. We forget the deaths and move on hurriedly. Never suspecting that the next one may be us, never knowing when the time is up. For those in power, they behave like the office is the Holy Grail, the purpose and meaning of why we are here. True only if each ounce of energy and every bit of time is used to watch out for the little guy – everything for everyone, nothing for ourselves.

We live as if we live forever.