TWO weeks ago, someone I knew died. He killed himself. His wife found out he had a mistress, and she forced him to choose between the other woman or his family. He chose the latter. But, as it turned out, the situation wasn't as simple as that: he couldn't forget his lover.

As the days inexorably became weeks, his longing for her became more and more acute. Until one day, he decided to return to her--only to find out she already had somebody new and no longer wanted him back. Feeling dejected and rejected, he tied a cord around his neck, stood on a stool, and bade his life goodbye.

More than a month ago, another person I knew went quietly into the night. He died in his sleep. He was penniless. His family and friends had to dig deep into their pockets to come up with enough money to pay for his coffin and to bring his remains to the province for a proper burial.

Last Tuesday, government authorities killed a human being in almost the same way a vet took care of stray dogs--they put him to sleep. His name was Pablito Andan, a pedicab driver. The courts found him guilty of raping and killing Marianne Guevarra, a relative. After a series of appeals from the Church and conscience groups which produced several presidential reprieves, lethal injection was finally administered to him. His last words before his eternal slumber were: "Mahal ko silang lahat. Mahal ko silang lahat." Unlike Leo Echegaray, who professed his innocence up to the very end, he faced the certainty of his death with resignation.

Several years ago, more than 200 merry-making youngsters perished, engulfed by fire in what came to be called the Ozone disco tragedy. The few who survived have been literally scarred for life. Those who died left lives that were full of promise. The flame of their dreams was extinguished by the conflagration.

Through the years, tragic vehicular accidents have claimed countless lives, including those of a lot of show biz personalities--Lino Brocka, Eddie Peregrina, Claudia Zobel, Jon Hernandez, Jay Ilagan, Ric Segreto, etc. Death was farthest from their minds when they reached the end of their line.

Since time immemorial, man has been fascinated with death. How does one properly prepare for it? What happens after? As the physical body rots and returns to dust, where does the spiritual soul go? Where is heaven and the divine salvation it represents? Where is hell and its eternal damnation? What about purgatory? Reincarnation?

Since our country that's steeped in religiosity, the idea of death is enshrined in our beliefs and the rituals that go with them. When death descends upon the family, we have the traditional burol in which the entire community joins us, not only for the novena for the dead, but as a part of our cultural system of providing solace and comfort to the bereaved.

We believe that, on the third day, the spirit of the dead visits us and we've come to anticipate his paramdam--to confide some untold secret, to tell us about some unfinished business we need to attend to in order to provide a sense of closure to his life, or to simply remind us of how much he loved us. Our faith also tells us that, on the 40th day, his soul departs from this world to go to its final resting place.

Perhaps, we need to weave this elaborate tapestry of beliefs, customs and traditions as our way of coping with the profound sense of loss that eats at us whenever a loved one dies. Or they could be our feeble response to something we cannot adequately fathom, much less come to terms with, given our all-too-human faculties.

During my years on television, I had many occasions to come face-to-face with the primal, physical, philosophical, supernatural and cosmic questions related to death. I featured innumerable incredible stories and interviewed many people who claimed to have intimate knowledge about death.

There were those who said they had already died but came back to life, those who could see ghosts and communicated with them, those who have taken it upon themselves to help victims of sudden or violent death accept the irreversibility of their situation and go on to the next phase of their existence.

In all instances, these experiences have left me with an overpowering sense of helplessness--and even gloom. For how can we sufficiently wrestle with the questions of death when we can hardly come up with all the answers related to life? How can we even hope to understand the former when the latter is already beyond us?

I've discovered that, ultimately, the matter of death is a question of faith. There should be God anchoring our lives in order for death--and life--to hold meaning and to give us the hope for salvation.

Life is how we make of it. Simply put, it is composed of the big and small choices and decisions that we then have to live by. But, in today's complex world, coming up with the correct choices and decisions has become such a difficult task that we need no less than the mighty hand of God to bless and guide our every move--and, finally, to help us prepare for the life after this.

Two days from now, we're going to flock to the cemeteries all over the country to commune with our dearly departed. Perhaps, we should cease the season to contemplate on the here and now--and the hereafter. Perhaps, we should take time out to reflect on our lives--and the death that is everyone's fate.