Walking Through the Storms

A New Wave of Grief

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It’s been more than a week.  My response to another loss was different. I was numb, cold, “heartless.” I asked the Lord to extend my father’s life for next year after knowing that he gets weaker and weaker every day. We know that his life at 91 is already well- lived but the added loss was too much for me to handle and I was not prepared for another one in a year. I avoided talking to my father on his last day; I couldn’t stand listening to his voice because it brings back memories of my husband’s final moments. My sister was able to record his last words to us, but I did not dare listen to them even until this writing.

I felt “good” during the wake; I was different, totally different from what my family expected of me. I felt and saw their concern when I arrived and they anticipated an overwhelming show of emotion, but I did not. I just shed a tear as I looked at my father’s lifeless body. I was my usual self as if I did not grieve for months; my family even openly joked about my attachment to my husband through the dolls I have of him. It was a happy event, celebrating the life of my father, who died peacefully in his sleep. This feeling of numbness, coldness and heartlessness was temporarily put on hold when we finally laid down my father’s body to rest. The thought of not seeing him again and his voluminous letters finally dawned on me. There was this feeling of guilt and wished, we should have known earlier because there  was a disparity of what he showed us  from his writings, but who are we to judge? He is no longer here to defend or justify, or to clarify whatever it is that he wrote but one thing is certain, he was very proud and believed in us and more importantly, he was saved and that gave us this peace and comfort that one day, we will see him again and as I re-watched the video of him, I felt the same knife that cut my heart into pieces during my early days of grief with my husband when I realized that I was the only one left from our wedding pictures together as shown from the video. 

After the burial, I intentionally ignored any show of emotions, including any remembrance of my husband, by keeping myself busy. I did not slow down despite the sleepless nights of wake and tiredness. I believe God gave me the sufficient strength to go through day after day.  I was able to fight off the feelings until we traveled back to the city. I began to feel and acknowledge the same surge of emotion as before, but this time, I am more open with the negative ones, like anger. I have become more impatient and “angrier” with my children for trivial things. They became my shock absorber. I was surprised to see my son step up as my daughter and I argued repeatedly.  I felt so weak and overpowered that I unknowingly told my niece that I wished I’d be gone too. I also said the same thing to my children when I regained my sanity. I asked for understanding as the loss of my father started to sink while I was still journeying with the loss of their father at the same time. They knew I was better until the recent passing of my father. 

I have to go down to  my knees again, this time deeper and longer because of the added pain, similar yet different.  My heart is heavy. What makes this difficult is the holiday season coming up. One of the many first holidays of “should have beens” with my husband.  It should have been our first time to spend the holiday season from my side of the family and go home to the province. (We planned for this before his passing) little did I know that he would not be with us and, worst, even my father.  I can only imagine how happy my father would have felt and how we would be feeling, a different place of celebration, but now, we were left with …just us.

As I continue in this journey, please pray with me and for me, please do not audit my grief through my tears, especially the length and volume of it; please do not tell me, I should be over it, or to let go of it but instead allow me to let it out. Please let me speak about it for this emotional pain to lessen or soften; this is a kind of pain you can feel in the bones as I continue to seek and ask for God’s additional and continuous comfort and peace. I know I am making you uncomfortable that is why I distanced myself from people, and forgive me if I bring down your happiness when you see me, or I am becoming a burden to you. You are free to let go of me; please know that this is my journey, and this journey matters to me, and I find it difficult to race through the heartache. My children were witnesses of my progress before it was broken with another loss. I was looking forward to ministering to people and share how God is carrying me through this journey, but I know the Lord is teaching me more.  For today and the days to come, please hold on as I sail and continue the legacy my loved ones left for me, especially my husband. I have this feeling of cement that is slowly hardening and pressing on my chest due to my longing for his presence which I deliberately ignored. Losing another parent is also a different kind of pain that makes it more difficult. 

I know this will be one of the courageous things I will go through, to continue to live even if personally; I also want my life here on earth to end, and as I do that, each day that passes through brings me closer to seeing my loved ones in Heaven. Our separation is only temporary. I will see them again when my very own journey here has been completed. 

“I can no longer see, hear, or touch you my darling, but I will feel you in my heart forever. To my father and mother, I know you are now both resting in peace and enjoying Heaven together.” 

The Longing…

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“To my darling in heaven, it felt so good to talk about you, to share our memories of you to the people you loved, they talked about you too and that meant you mattered to them. They have carried something of who you are, you have left some mark on them.  Your absence made them sad, and by that, I believe, you are also loved by them. We went back to the place you have loved so deeply, to the place where you had your first and held your final breath. To hear your name being spoken brought us some comfort and peace. Your memory with them is special, and somehow, we felt God’s windshield wiped some of the tears and pain away from us for a while. We will continue to hold on to the memories we have of you, especially the good, happy and fun, and pure. With God, in due time will erase the painful ones.”

 Our visit to the province is over. As always, we did not go out for the whole week except our scheduled visit to the columbarium where my husband’s remains were and brought his urn overnight. We were afraid of facing overwhelming memories if we went out that could shatter our steady hearts. We needed just enough to fill our hearts, and we had them at home, his photos, books, clothes, and shoes along with his favorite chair and game; 3 chess sets and one was never even used. Memories after memories came rushing through, and the saddest is, mining through a box of letters that he wrote for me while we were starting our family. The hardest part was when his belongings stopped smelling like him and that is what we have been looking forward to our trip back home.

 We survived the week. Though every day was a struggle, we maintained that sense of normality of staying within the four walls of our house, our new normal.  We have to remind ourselves that there are just the 3 of us now. Until this writing, I unconsciously ordered for four meals instead of 3.

 My anxieties lessened by God’s grace; I was able to attend to the church where he pastored and met, talked with and even hugged the people who have been very helpful in my grief. Although some cannot stand looking at me as they have to shy away for reasons I don’t know, and I can only assume that my presence made them uncomfortable or sad, nonetheless, I am used to being avoided since my loss, though painful, there is always a price to pay. I do not like to force myself to stop to make people feel better. I tried so many times to try to appear ok but, in the end, I find myself worse than before. The scars of his absence prick, and I believe because I have loved so deeply and truly.

I know my grief is past the average 6-months period that a person is supposed to have. I grieve not because I am still holding on for the past and for what could have been. I grieve because I miss him; I long for him, I yearn for him; I miss his physical presence, not necessarily the intimate touch but his casual touch; I miss his arms around my shoulder every time we cross the street, our hands holding together during our prayers, his good morning and goodnight kiss and hug; I miss the wee hours in the morning where we used to talk and discuss about anything under the sun. We miss him driving for us, bringing and fetching us whenever he is around. Now, we have to learn and unlearn things. Everything is different. 

 I know we will not go back to normal; “normal” to us means, a combination of crying and laughing when we remember him. Normal to me is early morning heartbreaks where my children knew nothing. I spend the late morning putting the pieces back with God sewing them all together throughout the day.

I can say I am better now; better in a way because my weeping is lesser but the pain is still very much present; better, not because I am getting over my loss, but because I am slowly moving forward with my husband, who I believe is watching and cheering for us and not to discount, the prayers that are being uttered on our behalf. I will continue to hold on to God’s promise of deliverance and hope through this storm and look forward to be in His presence in glory land.

“To my darling, I’m am forever grateful I had you with all that I have been through, is going through and will be going through, all the hurt, all the pain, and all the struggles that have come as a result of losing you here on earth.  Agapi mou s’agapo.”

Going and looking back

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“My work… my writing… my grieving process… all are grounded on the belief that just like love itself, grief doesn’t have an endpoint.” This is not just letting go & moving on but moving forward with the person and discovering who we become into the life that we need to rebuild in the after. This is the painful part of the healing process. Finding identity and how to start all over again.

I just passed the 6th month, and I cannot imagine the actual physical effect of grief had on my body. The “bleeding” episodes that my OB-GYNE said that I need to address because I just had it again, the “grief brain” or “widow brain” and repression. Repression became my normal psychological reaction to suppress the event and episode that I wanted to bury and forget, that is, my hospital memories with my husband, anything related to COVID 19 treatment and  when triggered, I can do things I might regret later which, I did.  I literally walked out in the middle of a Wednesday worship service when the guest preacher described his hospital experience with COVID19 and how the Lord delivered him from the disease, while the others were not as blessed as he is and succumbed to it. I have no ill feelings against him, but I must admit, I was hurt, deeply hurt because God answered his prayers and the prayers who rallied behind him, but my prayers and prayers of people who also rallied behind us were not answered. I have to go back to my knees and ask for God’s forgiveness for that action. The devil had a hold on me, and the wound that was slowly healing was opened. I thought that was it, but I was wrong.

During my very first grief session just recently, a daughter from the group began to describe her hospital experience by taking care of her dying mother of a similar condition. I was caught on the spot again, and the trigger was all over me as she began to use familiar terms related to the same disease. I thought I would be able to handle it, but, I was so wrong.  I almost “walked out” again during the session, but I opted to turn off the audio instead. What got me off was that she was so accurate with her description. It is as if I was in her shoes, and memories after memories came rushing in; the wound is not just opened but was exposed for more vulnerabilities. I felt defenseless because these two episodes led one to another; with the wound re-opened and exposed, it felt like salt was added to it, adding more pain to the injury or injury to the pain.

We are now preparing for our travel in a few days to visit the remains of my darling. Every night, my daughter and I talk and pray individually about our preparation. There was a night that she could not sleep and had been weeping all alone and when she could no longer handle it, she came down and slept beside me with his brother sleeping soundly on the other side. I did not ask her why because I knew it all along, it was about their papa. We cried together, and I assured her that her papa loved them both very much. If he had been here, he would have been very proud of her achievements and her brother’s progress. She said that she felt that somebody was whispering to her that night and believed it to be her papa from her unconscious mind.

Part of our preparation is the processing and completing our documents online to be allowed entry to the city. The papers are taking toll on us because of the changing protocols set by the local government. Although not required, we opted to have the rt-PCR test done to avoid being discriminated (again), and that was the salt put directly to my wounded heart. The agony of going through a similar procedure, passing the mall that we as a family usually go, is too much to bear. As we walked towards the three buildings, I held on to my chest, walked straight forward, without looking to my left and right, took some rest and a few deep breaths,  prayed for more strength as I mumbled, “keep on, go on  and fight the anxiety off” . It only took us an hour for the sample collection  including the queuing time, but it felt like days of travel due to a heavy heart and it was exhausting. We all felt tired when we reached home, my daughter has to take emergency leave because of this, but I need to work. The grace of God was with me because I survived the exhaustion and met my class, but in between periods, I struggled physically and emotionally. I always held on tightly to my “security doll” and that somehow eased the pain and relaxed me a bit.   

I am broken and anxious again,  but a big part of us is excited to go back and feel and savor the memories we have of my husband.  I am looking forward to my heart being flooded with good memories, his arms wrapping around me, his laugh and baritone/country voice that doesn’t exist here in our place. His familiar scent that will enter our noses and travels up to our memory banks and directly down to fill the cracks of our broken hearts. (Although I have a few of his used clothes with us, the smell is already fading). Going back home reminds us that he was once there, and he existed. I know these memories will hurt, but somehow, I believe, they will provide me relief after.

Though broken, I know that God loved me so much that He chose to give me a man to love, be loved, be married to, and bring up a beautiful family.  He took great care of our family with the best he could by providing and protecting us and fighting for us. He worked hard his whole life for us and, most importantly, for God. He left the pleasures of this world by resigning from a lucrative job that could have provided us with the physical comforts of this world. He taught us to be reliant on God, and that He never will forsake us. “I will always keep talking about you darling, you deserve to be remembered, and even if people grow tired of hearing your name, I will still keep on.”

One of the hardest things, if not the hardest, to do after a loss is to reset, restart, rebuild, and pick oneself up one more time. You need to adjust to a new normal with your loved one, not physically by your side. It will take some time, and it is important and healthy to recognize that one is not yet ready and there is no rush. There is no schedule and no time frame. Once we get up, there is no certainty that life will surprise us if we are ready to face another challenge because that’s how life is consistently unpredictable, and without God in our life, it will be difficult. Without Him, I don’t know if we are still breathing with my heart and children in pieces.

A million memories…one heart…one soul

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At the start of each day, I always find myself longing for my husband and cry to sleep at night. If pillows were alive, they would have drowned in tears. I always ask for God’s mercy for His daily comfort and peace in my prayers and tell my husband how much I love and miss him very much.  It will be his 6th month in heaven in five days, and I am still having a difficult time moving forward with him. I still feel the heaviness in my heart, knowing that the only ones that get me moving are his memories, and the more I think of him, the more I miss him.

Missing someone you love and love you in return with the same intensity is a different kind of pain.  As days and weeks and months passed by, I thought I had loved my husband more than he loved me, but as these days unfolded, I began to discover that he loved me just as I loved him and perhaps even more. These revelations are the ones that keep me from loving, appreciating him more.

We know that my husband was not perfect, but my children and I witnessed that he was a man of words and remarkable to the people who knew him well. It just saddens us that he was not given that much time to others who knew him otherwise. We will continue to honor this version of him. He is not here to defend himself, explain himself, or do things to make things right, especially to those who were offended or hurt by him. We grieve for the person he was to us despite his flaws.

Our hearts are torn to pieces but at the same time leaps with joy and gladness because he lived serving and loving the Lord.

Grief gets better with time; it is not because you have exhausted your all through the tears and emotions and eventually forget how the pain felt but because the grief was already embedded in your life.  It is the price of loving. You get used to the heartache; you learn to live with it. I believe that the depth of grief reflects how deep the relationship was, not because of the guilt, past hurt, unfulfilled promises, and would have been, though they add fuel to the grief.

I am still scared of many people. I tremble at the sight of them, but I am coping well by God’s grace as I start to attend Wednesday worship services. I began to adjust to seeing people around, but I still do not like to show myself; I still stay away from them. My whole body trembled when we were presented for church membership. I had to hold on to my children while we were in front with many pairs of eyes on us. I tried to appear calm and confident, but it was just a show-off; I believe those who knew what was going on with me are holding on for me, for us that time. I still do not like people to see me. I do not want to be pitied nor judged upon or to see me weak. It is a form of defense mechanism, which could be because of the label “widow.” My husband’s loss gave me that new title. A title no one ever wants and I am not taking it either. I do not want to be even labeled as such. I am still very much married and will forever be. This is what I told my husband during our usual conversation every time we know of a widow or widower getting married again.

November 1 and 2 are looming while the world celebrates the so-called All saints and all soul’s day; we don’t celebrate the day as such; we will set aside the day as a special Memorial Day for my husband, that he once lived, loved, and walked in this life with us and will never be forgotten. Our life and home will never be the same again. Our house has been silent and empty since we moved. We tried to be happy by remembering the good times with him, but we ended up quiet after and went on with our daily chores. My children know how much I grieve for my husband, and they understand. At first, they pushed me hard to move forward because they could not bear me seeing sad and eventually got used to it.

My memories of my husband are what keeps me.  Often, I look forward to signs, just as the first dream I had with him during my early part of grief. I had some share of random dreams that kept me going through the day. He always assures me of his love and affection in my dreams, just as he used to when he was still here. I know dreams are things of the past, but it somehow gives me a sense of relief and comfort from this grief, and they appear during the times I least expected but badly need it.

I know my husband knew me to be strong-willed; he never doubted that; I also know that he would want me to make an effort to work with my emotions because this is what is putting me in a difficult situation. If he is with me right now, he will remind me to control my feelings although, he will also allow me to cry and feel pain.

My long-term (and short-term) comfort will be the assurance that I will see him again, but for now, I live one day at a time by God’s grace.

A Journey of Faith, Hope, Love and Healing

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Losing someone is not just an event. It does not happen just once. It happens repeatedly. You lose the person every time you see a vehicle that looks like his or worse, sitting inside the vehicle itself, imagining him driving. It can also happen when his favorite TV show accidentally pops on the screen. You also lose the person when you are reminded of the voice, the smell, and the touch. You will always have those heartbreaks and breakdowns, prompts, and tears, and when you are done crying, the emptiness inside takes over and grows again. I wanted to avoid these triggers, but it hurts me more because I long for tangible things to be seen and touched. The silence is deafening; the pain, suffering, and loneliness of living without him are unbearable. I am very desperate to hold and see him again.

Getting Better

The grieving process is a cycle. I know it gets better with time. Getting better does not mean I am moving on from the crippling effect of grief; instead, I am learning to live and get accustomed to that pain of longing and emptiness and as it is already becoming part of me. It is a fact of life. Sooner or later, we will all leave this world. It is only a matter of time. We all have our timelines. I know that my husband did not want to depart and leave and see us here broken, but it was not up to him to decide.  I have to acknowledge that God did not take him from us but He is getting back what He owned in the first place. The Bible is full of verses about this, and my husband uses a lot of this in his preaching. My time with my husband is just borrowed, and I have no right to claim him as mine; he is not mine to keep and assume that I will never lose him. The painful part is total and genuine acceptance of this reality.

Roller Coaster Ride

My healing journey is not yet over. I am in my 6th month. It is still a roller coaster ride, and I am still surviving. I am still in the middle of the storm, the winds tossing to and fro. I still have those negative feelings of envy and jealousy (to those who have easily moved forward with their loss), denial of the loss, anger, loneliness, rejection and abandonment, confusion, helplessness, anxiety, disappointment, inadequacy, and vindictiveness. I am still caged in this storm, and I am getting used to the different surge of emotions. This journey is not just a journey of healing but hope and faith.

I was used to being comfortable with everything with my husband, who completed me; there was always this him and me since we got married; thus, he became part of me. It was a relationship, a sealed bond between two people in love, and God was a witness, in fact, very much part of this relationship. I know how my husband prayed for my spiritual growth and maturity. 

Uncertainty

My faith was never tested this hard until his passing. I am left with uncertainty. I am in this uncomfortable stage where my old, confident self is gone (although I appear to be one). I need to trust God fully. I must admit that there were many times that I gave up believing that this agony would never end. I wished for this life to stop to put me out of this misery. I must allow God to lead me. To re-learn to do things with Him in control.  I pray that I will be able to let go of the negativities that impede my healing, especially my anxieties as the Lord carries me through. I know I will heal just like a broken leg, I will be able to walk again, but I have to bear with the limping. It is still a long journey because the love is so deep. But I have to hold on to receive healing, spiritual strength, a sense of fullness, peace, and a renewed sense of purpose. 

Forever Grateful

I am continuously grateful to the people who are still with us on this journey. Special thanks to our church family, who have shown so much love and support from day one until today. My family including my husband, (if he is here would be very happy because he always told us to stay close to you if we are in the city because he knew how much you care). Thank you for ministering to us and for taking and bringing us into your fold once again. Please be patient with our children and me as we start anew. Please do not rush us out into this grieving process so quickly that we might be overwhelmed. 

Hanging on and holding on…

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It’s been five months of grief. People are happy to see me slowly coming back, especially when I meet my class. I have to excuse myself not to open my camera on so they cannot see the real me and hide from who I am now. I am so good at faking it that even my children are amazed. They saw me struggle before and after my class and how I feel exhausted trying to be stronger than I feel.

Since the school year started, I find myself going through the daily motion of meeting my class and, in between, my administrative job. I am blessed to have people around in school who understands and do not overwhelm me with issues. They know that I am not what I used to be and I need to process the information slowly. I always find God’s favor because we never had any significant situation that required immediate and big decisions that could affect our department.

Grief is full of surprises. It disappears in a minute and reckons with greater strength soon after. You cannot prepare for it because it does not  provide warning at all. You find yourself lost in the middle of nowhere, weeping and smiling and, in a split second, angry and numb.

Grief can also make you do what you never thought you could do. This is one of the reasons why I am afraid to be with people because I panic. I do not know how to behave in front of them, I do not like to be seen, talked to, or with, and worst, pity me. However, most of the time, I can be very confident that I end up sharing my grief with people and make them uncomfortable and eventually have to avoid me. I felt better after expressing my pent-up emotions, but I end up regretting them because I knew I lost them, just like the others. I know this  because they stopped checking on me after that conversation.

I was overly honest with myself, and I had a hard time learning to drop expectations from others. I have been cautioned not to let go of every emotion I have with people because it is a set-up of an added misery. Part of me is saying, if you do that, you will lose more. There is this feeling that our society does not approve of grief, and we are encouraged to swallow it up and get back to their definition of “normal.”

I have to choose to either stop being true to people, to myself, or isolate myself. I chose the latter, and that is what I have been doing for the last three weeks. I kept quiet and distanced from people who messaged me; the only response was an emoji, or sometimes, I ignored their messages because I was afraid to be hurt. I found myself regressing instead of progressing. I knew that I was doing much better before, but now, I found myself back to square one. Grief took its toll on me again, made a big comeback, a rebound, a reckoning; it is grief at its finest.

My children enjoyed my silence and constant cry for a while soon after. They also grew tired of my whining and weeping but eventually saw that I was not getting any better. They went to the point of begging me to talk to them, which I finally did because I saw them suffer in my silence. I am thankful to a very importunate  (one of my husband’s favorite words) friend, who reminded me to praise God still and claim His promise in Hebrews 13:14, translated as this world is not our home. We are just pilgrims and just passing through, a reminder also of one of my husband’s favorite phrases and songs, and we are not supposed to be comfortable here, and God is with me in this journey, even if I do not feel Him for, He keeps His promise.

True enough, I failed to acknowledge God’s presence and His boundless grace. I was unable to recognize the people that He is sending and using until this day. I focused on those who left, not on those who stayed and the new ones that came. I forgot to appreciate that there are still people who continuously send help and support. Some of them were from my darling’s circle when he was still in the corporate world, whose lives he touched and never forgot; others were friends who have been walking right along beside me through their random messages and cheering me on as I learn to find my way through. With these friends, I see Christ; God is hugging me through their hands, God is speaking to me words of comfort and assurance of His love and peace through their words.

Many of these people were just my acquaintances then and people I never even met; their prayers are the ones that are holding me on; I know the Lord is slowly leading me through this storm; it is only a matter of time. I am growing through grief with Him.

It is still hard and painful to remember how broken everything was; the pain of remembering is impossibly hard  but, it is far outweighed by the beauty of my darling’s life. As I share and continue, I hope that lessons can be learned with my encounter with grief, knowing there are people like me, who never wants to be in our place, a place that we did not choose, being led to a journey via the boulevard of grief. For how far and how long, I do not know. I have to put my hope and trust in God, for HE is our ALL after all. 

Fugitives

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After few days of stay in our house, it is time to move again. Since our loss, we moved in and out from one place to another and one province to another province. We were like fugitives, no permanent address. We did this on purpose, although it was difficult, we did a lot of packing and unpacking of our belongings since, but  I am glad we did.

I cannot imagine what our life would have been if we stayed at home with all the memories within our consciousness, sights, sounds, touch, the smell of my husband that is all over the place. I am very thankful to my sisters and their respective families, who lovingly embraced us into their fold during the early part of our grief.

Leaving Home

My children and I wept heavily at the thought of leaving our house, our place of refuge. If only we could stay, but we cannot, and we should not. Our only consolation was, this was just temporary, and we were only leaving the building, not the home. We bring our home with us, my husband who completes our family; our love is what made our house; a home. We will be coming back to refresh our memories. By that time, by the grace of God, our anxieties will lessen; though the pain will not get better, we will be accustomed to it and find ways to get through it; we can bravely face memories after memories of places and things where we used to go. We dropped by the columbarium to visit the ashes of my darling; once again, and we went ahead.  The sky looked good as we traveled. I usually panic every time I see the sky so beautiful because it reminds me of my husband’s love for it, but amazingly, I did not—but tears kept flowing until we reached our destination
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Finally Home?

 It was a different experience; there was a 180-degree turn from our experience when we went back to our home city. There was no crying; we just went through the motion of fixing our things. We even had his two framed pictures displayed, one just beside the cross-stitched wedding I had while pregnant with our daughter. There were no emotions whatsoever until it was time to rest and sleep. Suddenly, we felt something was missing, there was something wrong, and only then that we realize that the 4th member of our family was missing, the most important member of our family was absent, and we could not feel him . We just looked at each other, no words in between, and wept together until our tears are dried up.

The days that followed became more difficult. We were constantly reminded of my darling; had he been with us, he would do this, do that, tell us this and that all based on our imagination because he never saw the place where we moved. We bragged about it because it is far better than the last one, its accessibility to places we usually go. He was looking forward to being with us and planned for a week to stay and visit the prison (given a chance) and was even invited as a speaker for a graduation ceremony, but he never had that chance.

Missing him more

  I have always wanted to shout, but I never had the chance. But deep within, I am screaming and asking God for this pain to be over. For days, I saw my children suffer in agony; they were more open now. They used to be strong as they have been lifting my spirits. I thought they were ok, but I saw them break down in tears from time to time which they have been hiding from me. In desperation, they blame their papa for being careless; that is why he got the virus. I wept with them whenever I saw them cry; there was no holding back; we missed him a lot.

Soon after, my children allowed me to go in my grief and did not bother to sympathize nor empathized with me just as they used to. I have no choice but to endure the pain that pushes me forward, and it is the only option I got now; my daughter, who used to stand for me, for us, suffered physically as a result of stress and tension. She was diagnosed with TMJ due to frequent headaches, hair loss, and localized skin eczema since we arrived in the city. We were broken within this flame of trial that turned our world upside down and patiently wait for total healing from the Lord.

Things are clearing for us from time to time, especially for my children as they begin to cope; my daughter has to attend to the demands of her work and my son’s studies as he is wrapping up with the school year. Amid my grief,  by God’s grace, I can still meet the need and pressure of my job but most of the time break down soon after. 

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Facing the Giant

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This journal is a product of “blood” and tears as every word used to describe what we went through as a family cut through our hearts into pieces but eventually are held back together by God’s love.

This is one of the bravest, heart-wrenching episode since I started writing. It does not only include my own but my children as well. My children have shown strength of character since our loss, but human as they are, they finally let their guard down and found themselves in the dark, rough tunnel with me. We never wanted to go through this journey. We tried our best to escape this part of our story because we know what is ahead; it exposes our vulnerability to different emotions that can make or break us. It is facing a giant and an elephant in our room.

After six weeks, we finally decided and went back “home.” The time seemed so long. The road is winding (literally and figuratively) and endless.  It was the toughest ride ever. Our anxiety level was up, and the butterfly feelings are all over us. Our heart is telling us not to go back home yet, but again, sooner or later, we can no longer hide and avoid but face reality. We have to step up in faith the place of fond memories where there is love and respect, our refuge, and where we used to be complete as a family for recent months.

Our feet were heavy as we climb up the stairs to our house. Upon entry, we were welcomed by the two big photos of my darling that were displayed during his wake, left untouched. I was caught off-guard and felt as if my body froze; I cannot move. I told my son to turn the photos backward to contain myself from any emotional breakdowns.  I cannot describe how my children felt at that time. All I can remember was, they were numb and weak, they did not say anything for a while, and eventually wept, and I was crying with them too—no words in between. We just let go of our emotions. We did not know what to do and how to begin with and how much time it took us to be in that situation. Eventually, we were on our knees begging for God’s grace and mercy.  Our prayers calmed us down and gave us the focus we needed. We started to fix our things with the help of my niece and her husband—one room after the other, leaving our bedroom as the last one to be opened on purpose. I need sufficient courage because I know what is in there, an “elephant” waiting.

I took a few deep breaths to prepare myself as our room is being opened. I cannot exactly remember how I felt. Ordinary life events trigger significant pain; how much more is the pain when you see all tangible memories at one time? I just felt that tears flowed instantly from my eyes as memories of my darling flood my soul.   My children and I felt our world stopped again for some time. There was heavy breathing, heart racing, all-consuming ache. It was more than the pain I felt in the grocery store or our first few days of loss. I felt a knife that cut through my heart and wounded my soul. The scariest experience that I have been avoiding and wanting to forget was right in front of me, the “elephant” that wants to devour me and cut me to pieces. I saw ALL that was left off from the hospital, used and unused; there were so many. (We were ready no matter how long it will take his treatment going to be). I found myself embracing everything that I can hold on to that belongs to him—literally smelling what is left of him, his used, unwashed clothes, his wide collection of warm sweaters and jackets all over the wall. I want to feel and see him again.

As my emotions waned, I felt exhausted and slept. I snuggled into our warm fur blanket with a lot of stuff still on our bed. What surprised me was, the sleep was the calmest, peaceful sleep that I ever had since my darling passed away. Even my children felt the same way when we slept together that night. There was peace, quietness, rest, and comfort for the first time. We are surviving, after all. We tried to escape from the giant of fear and the elephant in our room by avoiding our home, avoiding the tangible things that remind us of our loss, but the giant of fear was broken, budding faith, hope, and healing await.

We found safety and comfort within the four walls of our home the following days. There were moments of emotional outburst, especially when we remember my husband’s favorite food, his never-ending coffee session after meals while he is playing chess passionately against his virtual opponent. You can see and feel his excitement and frustration if he is winning and losing, and the worst memory was the event before his hospitalization. Nonetheless, we savored more good memories during our stay.

    We wished we could have stayed on the condition that we lock ourselves within because thoughts of going out still scare us.  O, it was just a wish because we know it is not possible. We need to leave for the time being. We need to press on and go back to the city where we used to live—a place where we have more good memories, friends, and “family” waiting for us. I need to go back to work, earn a living to support my children, especially my son, who is struggling with his studies because of this experience. My daughter also needs to return and focus on her work as our loss greatly affected her performance. I know God did not leave us, especially when a good friend told me of the story of her friend who suffered the same case as mine. Her condition was more complicated because she lost both her husband and mother, barely three days apart with two little children left behind to take care of. She was reportedly found inside the restroom, unconscious, and was brought to the hospital. I was also told that she has to go through a blood transfusion and needs psychological counsel. Along the way, I know God is with us. I can see His goodness through stories like these and the kindness of Christian family and friends who randomly checked on us.

I know God would pull us out of our situation and give us peace and comfort amid our pain with the passing of time. He didn’t promise to protect us from pain and loss but to bring us through it. Our family was crushed was but not destroyed after all. As impossibly hard as that is, the pain of remembering is outweighed by the beauty of their being. Agapi mou s’agapo.

 

Certified Coffee Addict

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No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing.​- C. S. Lewis

  I only left the house and went to the city for only a few times to work on documents during our six-week stay in the province. I cannot forget the first time, and I  thought I was ok without my daughter. As the vehicle moved and the beauty of the clouds in the sky followed us, my hands and feet began to tremble and got wet; I had shortness of breath, chest pain, and palpitations, and unconsciously, I found myself crying the whole trip for an unknown reason. My nieces just watched and allowed me to express my emotions as they do not know what to do until I began to relax a bit and I was able to accomplish what I am supposed to.​

However, what made the experience worst was my trip to the grocery store alone. I never thought that the place we enjoy and love to go to with my family became scary. It was not faith, after all, but fear that cannot be understood.
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I never thought that a simple trip to the grocery store causes an excruciating and heart-wrenching experience. The sight of the shelves with grocery items startled me again.  The feelings I had while we were on our way to the city were nothing compared to what I experienced inside the grocery store. I thought I was dying. All I can remember was I ran as if I am a criminal and somebody is following me. I never knew and recognized that I had an anxiety attack, and it does exist and is normal for a person who grieves.  It is scary because it involves not only emotional but physical. The episode tells me there is something wrong, and I am not safe.

I realized the irony of grief.  It makes you fearless but, at the same time, fearful or scared about everything. I don’t know why I am anxious. I have to prepare myself every time I go out. I need somebody to be with me because, at any given time, my hands tremble and begin to sweat, and my legs weaken as if I will collapse. There is that feeling of loneliness and emptiness, a hole in my heart even if people surround me. I am afraid to be seen, not to be seen, afraid to be alone, to walk alone, but I do not want to be alone, afraid to let go and hold on, afraid of silence, but I enjoy silence. How can people understand me when I cannot even understand myself? I want to end this suffering, but why am I scared to leave this world?

 The familiarity of the grocery store hurt me a lot. It reminds me of my husband as I think of every aisle remembering the many times we shopped together with our children and the feeling of being trapped in a long gallery where boxes of coffee are displayed. I remember him spending so much time checking and eventually buying 2-3 coffee on the shelf. O, how he loves coffee.  He is a certified coffee addict. He drinks at least five or more cups per day with the “venti” size of Starbucks or large-sized coffee of other coffee shops in the country. He was so addicted to coffee that he has a collection of mugs and canisters  to keep his  coffee hot. I know that his coffee is way better than any coffee shop around, and he keeps his recipe a secret. My daughter is saving for an espresso machine as her supposed gift for him this Christmas so he can savor and enjoy his coffee better.  It  saddened us that he will never get the chance to. He always says that the blood that runs in his veins is coffee. I have to remind him to slow down and cut his coffee drinking habit.
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I made another trip to a smaller grocery store with my sister for the second time, and with her around, I felt much better. I purposely avoided aisles and shelves that will remind me of him, but I have to cut it short because I felt an anxiety attack is about to explode again. Since then, until this very day,  I resolved that I will never enter another grocery store again, not yet.  A grocery store is full of landmines of memories. I do not like to be embarrassed when my emotion creeps in suddenly because I had enough, and I dread the feeling of having the attack.

Though grief is selfish, it is not selfish to grieve, and it is not a loss of faith. Grief, when handled correctly, is a normal reaction to a loss that can co-exist with the comfort of one’s faith. We can grieve and still have faith, and I know; the Lord did not give up on me yet.

“Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.” Joshua 1:9

This is my journey to healing

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