Good Grief

Three years ago, this same month I received a phone call that made my heart stopped. For a second, I was pronounced dead.  It was almost noon and I had just came home from work. On my way, I decided to get my laundry. It was somehow a normal afternoon. I was glad I survived another day at the graveyard. But on that single day, that afternoon, even before I got that call, I felt a peculiar sense of absence—a strong urge of sudden longing that I knew.. I knew it had to be IT. So when I picked up the phone and uttered the first word, I knew it should have been Goodbye instead of  “Hello”. Goodbye, Mom.

 Words instantly became mere uncomprehendable sounds. The emotion was so intense that I have created my own Pacific ocean. Instantly, I became my own private island floating or staying afloat desperately trying to avoid drowning. I never cried much in my entire life in as much as I cried that month. I did not weep for just a day….a week….a month. I think that grieving is a process. It’s a an experience that everyone goes through–and for me (pain) is the most harsh human emotion one has to bear. January is that one month in my calendar that I dedicate for my Mom. This is probably my own January syndrome–a month where most people  celebrate new beginnings and a sense of renewed hope. But for me,as I welcome both I also embrace the absence. It’s also a special month for remembrance of unsaid words and goodbyes. And in moments of self-flagellation when the grief becomes too overwhelming and powerful, I just start putting my melancholic thoughts in paper. 

I’ve always made my writing as an outlet. I’ve been keeping my journals ever since I was a kid. But it was just this one time in 2005 when I decided that maybe blogging ain’t that bad and that probably it’s time to move on to a more advance mode of documentation — yeah I used hammer and chisel before but I think that’s pre-historic and brutal.

I’d like to channel all these unsaid words to something that I can share to everyone. In a way, this whole experience probably made me who I am today. I channel all these feelings of absence and guilt and all the  bad juju to writing anecdotes of human emotions, dramas, failures.

My mom’s departure, although abrupt perhaps molded me to write and share my insights. It also made me into this ingrate that I am. hahaha. And I admit. I admit that my whinings are pretty petty and childish. I admit my pessimistic views in life can dampen your peachy mornings. I see the glass half-full (at times half-spilled and it tasted like liquor). I bring havoc and I always wear a smirk. Perhaps, it’s because of my poor adaptation skills. So yes, I am thankful for this grief, for this excess baggage that someday I will manage to unload fully. The road to acceptance is straight ahead. But I am stubborn, on certain nights when I fail to lull myself, I think of the juvenile memories I had with my mom.  Yes, I miss her terribly and every single day I try to get by the gripping memory of her that constantly flash in my subconscious.  Funny how it takes a minute or two to remember a person but to forget or to accept the absence of that person in your life can take forever.

And yet I am thankful.Thankful that wherever she is—she’s probably having a bottle or two –there is a sense of relief that she is at rest.  You may be gone in this lifetime, Mom but you will always remain in my cholesterol-clogged heart. Happy Anniversary. I love you always.