My two cents on suicide

The news for the past week had almost entirely been about Ted Failon and the death of his wife, Trinidad Etong. The wife died by a gunshot wound through the head. Many believe that it was suicide, as the statement of Ted Failon and their household members provide. Nevertheless, the police are still exploring other angles, such as parricide, homicide, and murder.

There are varied aspects to tackle in this tragedy. However, the most significant thing that this event has dramatized is the effect of committing suicide to one's family and loved ones. While it is excruciating enough for Failon's family to see Trinidad take her own life, they are left with the repercussions that are so overwhelming it leaves one asking if their lives have suddenly taken a page from a telenovela.

From the time that this incident has surfaced, Ted Failon, being a popular media personality and a hard-hitting brodcaster, has continually been subject to the police's brusque investigation--which by their actions seem to have Failon guilty, until proven otherwise. Their household helpers have been mercilessly arrested (or invited, depending on whose vocabulary) for questioning, and consequentially charged with obstruction of justice, for tampering with the 'crime scene'. Kaye Failon, Ted and Trinidad's daughter, have stood amidst the onslaught of incrimating speculation against her father, defending him with unfaltering faith and conviction. While Trinidad Etong may have achieved peace with her death, the consequences of her action continue to ripple amongst her family, with the people whom she loved dearly, being on the receiving end.

I sometimes think that if she had a miraculous revelation of what would happen, right when that gun is pointed on her temple, I think she would have never pulled the trigger. However, the painful thing about life is that we can only live through an experience to actually know its consequences. In her suicide, she may have skipped living through the pains of life-- but her family is now the one suffering, gasping for an escape in the slew of predicaments that has befallen them. In her eulogy, Ted Failon said that it has occurred to him that shooting himself in the head could be a possible way of ending his woes right now.

I used to think the suicide is dramatic. Beautiful in fiction as much as it is poetic. Novels that end in suicide or some sort of tragedy more often than not captivate me into thinking that death has some redeeming power. But I now think it is nothing more than fictitious. Suicide is nothing like Juliet fluttering about, plunging a dagger in her chest, or Romeo sipping a poisonous cup. It is a very painful experience, most especially for the ones who are left behind.

Choosing life over death may seem to be the more difficult choice sometimes, especially when we are bombarded with all sorts of seemingly insurmountable problems. The beautiful thing about life is that you always have the chance to do over, rectify your mistakes, and experience the most amazing things that are yet to blessed upon you. Death, well, it is dead end choice. No restart or reset button. Just the end of a life that could have been.