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Suddenly

By: Neil A. Mamparo

In Iran, the thumbs-up is vulgar. You may signal a skirmish in the United Kingdom if you do a backward peace sign. In Brazil, the “OK” sign represents a malodorous body part. Russians look at the index finger as an insult or threat, and the infamous middle finger serves the same purpose in the United States. Does profanity serve a purpose?

My family loves using profanity to get their points across. Thanksgiving, one of the most familial times of the year, is something I always look forward to. Last Thanksgiving happened to be the most important in my life. My family knew the routine: wear the theme color (usually brown), prepare your food for the potluck, and arrive late as per Filipino tradition. With no other plans, I arrived early. I walked into the smell of warm mac and cheese and spaghetti. My uncle's home's sleek, rustic design added to the warm environment. I knew people wouldn’t arrive soon, so I fixed some food for myself. Relatives started rolling in, but one I heard from a mile away. My grandma came in, throwing curse words left and right. As she saw me, she told me the same thing I hear all the time: “You are so tall now, motherfucker!” This was nothing impressive; the average height in my family is around 5 feet 4. I always appreciated her bluntness. I’d rather that than constant sugarcoating. My grandma went on to flip off my family members; it was her favorite form of profanity. Whenever someone ticks her off, she gives them the finger.

The festivities commenced, and everyone stormed the kitchen island, waiting for their share of food. Before dinner, however, we must do our routine: we all share some things we’re thankful for, one by one. Some are very blunt and say what they’re genuinely grateful for, while some like to crack jokes to break the seriousness. I turned to a robot and said something generic: “I’m grateful for all the opportunities I’ve gotten this year and that the whole family can be here today.” Although I meant it, I said it lazily without much thought. Everyone started to fill their plates, and the activities began. Some focused on finishing their plate, while others played board games or Connect 4. The night was very long, and everyone’s appetite was satisfied.

Two weeks passed, and the family festivities were over, it was just a couple of weeks until Christmas. It was December 9th. The wind whistled outside as I woke up to prepare for the day. My morning routine had been the same for months: wake up, fix my hair, and get ready for school or work. Breakfast on rare occasions. Surprisingly, I woke up to a long message from my cousin. I expected it to be something exciting, maybe the outline of our upcoming Christmas party. Trying to clear my eyes, I read, “Update to grandma in ICU. She was found unresponsive this morning, and they did a scan of the head. The brain suddenly became swollen. The way this was described to the family was that the phenomenon is not reversible.” I realized my grandma was in the most critical condition she had ever been in. My boss understood, and I began the trek to Chicago.

Fifty minutes of impending doom. Driving has never felt so rushed in my life. As I drove, a clock kept ticking in my head—tick, tick, tick. My grandma was going to pass away, and I didn’t know if I’d make it on time. Those fifty minutes ended up feeling like twenty. I made it to the hospital, and as I walked in, a wave of emptiness hit me. I saw my family, but not the joyous one I’m used to. This was the most nightmarish view of my family I’ve ever seen. “It’s time to let her go.” We surrounded her, knowing what was next. Beep. Beep. Flatline. As everyone cried, I stood there, not believing what I saw. Everything happened so suddenly. Death, something I’ve never met, has now become part of my life.

I let my cousins ride with me back to my uncle’s house, where we agreed to meet for the night. Jaden and Chaela, my two loudest cousins, were silent like a whisper in the wind. The drive felt like an eternity. The road seemed like it never ended, and all I heard were the cries from my cousins. “I miss grandma,” Chaela said, and although I agreed, I couldn’t do anything but stay silent and suppress myself. My uncle’s home was filled with family members again, but it has lost all the warmth it usually has. The rustic design began to look brutal and eerie. The house was silent, but the sight of my quiet family was deafening. This isn’t the same family home I remember.

An empty three days passed, and it was time for her funeral. I was relieved to see my family again. They seemed to have recovered from the despair a couple of nights before. My cousins were a bit more lively than they were in my car. The room was filled with dozens of empty seats. Picture boards of my grandma surrounded the dark yet bright coffin. Everyone was dressed in all black, with a unique purple pin that resembled her favorite color. Everyone took their turn saying their final goodbyes, and when I went up, I noticed the ring on her finger. It was on her middle finger, almost as if they planned this. All the times I’ve seen her flip others off replayed in my head, and I no longer felt empty.

Death is still very unfamiliar to me. It’s been almost a year, and I still barely understand the loss of my grandma, but it doesn’t strike sadness in me anymore. The concept will return to my life in the future, and there’s no avoiding it, although I know the most effective remedy: give it the middle finger.