thanatophobia

Life is a very fragile thing.

Last month, Sir Alix, one of our Math teachers in Pisay, passed away, probably because of cirrhosis. We visited him two days before his not-really-unexpected demise, and saw how terrible his condition was: he looked literally yellow, and much thinner. His legs and abdomen were swollen, and there was this wretched expression on his face as he leaned on the bed - he couldn't lie on his back because of the pain. Despite that, he still managed to recognize us and thank us for visiting. Looking at him like that was really heart-rending; Clara and Leslie wept at the sight of him.

It was too staggering a thought that he was gone - Sir Alix, who looked almost like a jolly old friar, Sir Alix, whom we always made fun of because of his mispronunciations (paysheep = phase shift), Sir Alix, who magically procured near-miraculous grades for failing students, Sir Alix, who was always ready to crack a joke when the class was bored, Sir Alix, the Sir Alix with whom we shared so much memories.

But there lay on the coffin his emaciated and cotton-stuffed body, as we looked on with sorrow at his wake. He was dead. Period.

What is it with death that makes us humans so afraid of it? What drives us to grieve so much when someone beloved all of a sudden bites the dust? What impels some of us to erect stately mausoleums, whitewashed sepulchres that serve no practical purpose? What attracts some of us to consult witches and spirit mediums, asking them to conjure echoes of their departed? What gives us this unnatural fear of something so natural in this cat-eat-mouse world? Why is there an innate notion in all of us that there's more to death than just reaching total metabolic equilibrium?

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