...wasn't someone I knew beyond a few simple facts. He's a close relative's son and by all accounts a very loving one. He lived in Batangas and as with most sons was close to his mom. He liked hair gel.
New Francis factoid for the day: he's dead. At age... six?
He died of an aneurism in his brain. Yesterday. To hear my cop/doctor cousin talk, it was congenital.
* * *
I've been avoiding my relations in Batangas mostly because of family politics. Not that they were fomenting it: often they were caught in the crossfire among bickering siblings. Me, I had enough problems dealing with the politics among my multiple sets of friends.
I want to be pithy and mouth off some moral lesson gleaned from the day's events. I'm not in the mood, though. We all know what the lessons are. We're just unwilling to apply them until we're faced with absolute loss or the prospect of an imminent-maybe-tomorrow death. I look at Francis's dad and I tell myself there are worse things than the chain of lost friends or and loved ones who look at me and see a cockroach or a cage.
I'm okay, people. I'm just trying to absorb all of this, sort the information out and maybe pull off finding some meaning from all this that I can use to better myself.