The age of goodbyes
Being in your 50s often means entering the season of goodbyes. Our elders, those in their 80s or 90s, are reaching the twilight of their lives.
According to Worldometers.info, as of 2025, the average life expectancy in the Philippines is around 70 years, with men living up to 67 and women around 73. This is slightly below the global average of 73.5. Even more telling, the median age at death is lower. Men typically pass at about 59, and women around 67.6. It is a sobering reality and it brings a gendered view of how we experience aging and loss.
In the past 12 months, I have attended five wakes. This is the phase we are in, and we just have to accept it. It is heartbreaking and often depressing. Watching someone lose a loved one is one thing, but being the one left behind is something else entirely.
On July 7, my dad, Cenen Galang Dizon, decided he had had enough of this world. He chose to expand his horizons and rejoin my mom, Jul. It was sudden. Just a day and a half of chaos in the ER and Coronary Care Unit, and then at 12:08 p.m., he checked out. He was 87. Maybe we had just gotten too boring for him. All the crying, praying, and pleading must have worn him out. He always said that once he entered a hospital, he would not come out alive. It is quite irritating how right he always was.
But how does a woman my age deal with grief? I have known loss before. My heart remembers the pain. So why does it still feel like the first time I am saying goodbye?
Grief is never easy. I thought I would not be able to smile or laugh for months. And when I did, I felt guilty. But I have learned that it is okay. You should laugh. You should surround yourself with people who want to see you happy despite the sorrow. Remember the joyful memories. Tell stories until you pass out from laughing or crying. Laughing does not betray the one you lost. It honors them. It creates a pause in the pain, a breath, a balance. And sometimes, that is all you need to get through the next moment.
The hardest part about losing my dad is that he was the source of my joy, and now his absence is the root of my grief.
So now I have to find that balance within myself. Easier said than done, I know. But here is what I am committing to:
I am letting myself feel. I will talk about it. I will celebrate life.
And to you, Dad, enjoy your freedom from pain and the weight of this world. We will stay here, continuing to celebrate you with stories, with laughter, and with love.
