The loneliness…the memories… the I love you’s and the I miss you… I will never get tired of saying.
It is already the middle of the first month of the year. I survived the first day, the many “firsts” after 25 years. The first without my husband’s warm embrace as we watched the fireworks display in our home in the city, the first that we did not welcome the year there, the first that I stayed indoors, skipping the celebration, I deliberately slept through the night. I was hesitant to move into the new year, knowing that my husband would never be part of the year. Our calendar at home was left untouched since his passing, and I do not have plans to turn over the leaf, not yet. Not just yet, as I am not yet done with the “lasts.”
Well-meaning people already see me strong, even stronger than I used to. They mean well. I appreciate how they encourage me to continue and keep on; I do this because I need to get up every day. It is not because I want to, but it’s because I have to. I am still alive and can use this life to serve God and not waste it. I know my husband would trade his place with me to serve Him. For me, at this point in my life, it is easier said than done, I do not have my husband’s faith, dedication, and strength of character not to give up no matter what life throws at him, especially when his ministry for the Lord is put to the test. I easily give up and throw in the towel and say goodbye. He was my support; he was frank in his opinions of me, to the extent of telling me to keep my hidden talents hidden, laughs, and continues to say to me because it is where it belongs-hidden. He was very straightforward and not a sweet-talker and when it comes to the things for and of God, he gives his piece with all honesty and sincerity that hits us hard to the extent of sometimes asking us of our convictions. He holds no thread of holding back his words and backs it up with the scriptures.
Throughout the months that passed by, I began to master the art of hiding my emotions, especially from my children. Our relationship suffered greatly during the last few months, especially when we moved “again” in less than a year. I became very impatient and shouted at them for petty things. My daughter learned how to “shout” back at me, and I know that she is also hurting. She wants me to put the pieces of my life back together, to hold on, and not to let go because they still need me. The turning point was when she asked me, ” saan kami pupulutin mama kung wala ka na? hindi mo ba kami mahal? si papa lang ba ang mahal mo?”
As of this writing, my daughter is not with us. She no longer works from home. She has to go back to her lodging place in another town. As we talk each night, she tells me of her struggle adjusting to her new role as a team leader with the unprecedented 2-step promotion at such a young age. I have to encourage her that she needs to be strong by God’s grace, not to be intimidated, and apply her “controlling” behavior towards me to her people. I told her how she is inspiring me to be strong and accept my weakness with the loss of her papa. She said she is doing this for her papa, and if only he is still here, he could have been the proudest father; her daughter is growing and maturing and living up to what he is expecting her to be, our family’s “flag-bearer.”
We are already aware of her pending 1-step promotion, but this promotion is put on hold because of the pandemic. My husband already knew, and we can still remember how happy and proud he was of her, and with the added step promotion, he could have been prouder. My husband was her adviser, and they clicked; they understood each other, probably because they are graduates of almost similar fields. My daughter looked up to him and had a big influence in her life, especially in her decision making. They enjoy each other’s exchange of thoughts, especially when they talk about engineering stuff and even brag against each other’s know-how. Unconsciously, my daughter excelled in power plant engineering course where her papa was also good at during his college days. She could not hide her tears when she saw her name finally posted in their organizational chart and told us this promotion was dedicated to his papa. She kept wishing and hoping that he was still here to guide and provide advice in all her decision-making at work.
My daughter is coping graciously in her grief; she always tells me that she cannot feel that her papa is gone. She always thinks that he is just with us, which keeps her from grief. My son is also slowly going back to his feet after struggling with his studies. This is why I need to show strength and hide my grief. My children’s grief is different from mine. While many studies were made regarding this topic, it remains complicated as it varies from person to person, thus difficult to understand. Nobody can tell or dictate to a person how to grieve. It is a personal experience. It has many faces and affects people differently; that is why I cannot blame people for not wanting to talk to me or vice versa. This realization helped me process my grief slowly.
I used to expect people to understand or stand by me, but they could not. I have been in many grief groups, and that is where I finally found my place, and my reactions and response to grief are normal. Grief is closely entwined to our memory; it needs to be acknowledged. Memories that bring our loved ones to life by their remembrance, we love to talk and listen to other people talk about them. This will strengthen our bond with our loved ones and sustain the comfort we need. I also realized that aside from grief having no set time frame. It doesn’t end.
Moving forward does not mean grief will disappear. It will never be. It will just change its form, but it will continue to exist. Accepting this as a permanent part of your life is the first step in surviving its company. We will all get to experience living and dying, loving and losing in this world. This is what Jesus experienced, and having experienced this, he is very much capable of carrying us through. I am still grieving; people don’t see me when I sleep at night hugging my “husband,” as I long for his presence. People don’t see the me, who carries him around the house and speaks to him as if he is still here and in the wee hours in the morning where I wake -up every hour until I finally get up and begin a new day.
This journal is serving its purpose of relieving me of the multitudes of emotion. This journal practically takes the place of people, that instead of them listening to my long-playing stories, which in the end, leave them heavy-hearted because they do not know what to say. I am completely honest in this journal. I can say I am tired and exhausted without hiding anything. It is an acknowledgment that I don’t feel great yet; I am still tossed to and fro, and I can avoid hearing any judgment from people, especially the “holy” ones who believe I should have moved on because it’s been a long time already and I have God with me.
I grieve because I miss the person I loved and lived with for more than half of my existence, and only those who are in my shoes will ever understand. This journal exposed my grief, with the wound it created. It was very raw at the beginning, when I barely acknowledged God’s goodness and slowly, very slowly, the wound is no longer raw as they were once. I began to trust God and witnessed how He is getting me through.
A tissue scar is appearing, signifying it is healing, but from time to time, it opens, and when it does, I see God’s grace showing me glimpses of joy from my past to this present time with my family, friends, and church and as I allow Him to carry me. I am often weak, but I know it is ok with Him because He is strong.
To my darling in heaven, I miss you. I know I cannot do anything now. But I wish for this unbearable pain to stop every time I realize you are no longer here. The feeling of emptiness and the constant need to talk to you every day like we had for 25 years. But until then, I will celebrate your life for the remainder of mine and hope to finish well like what you had for God.
Job 5:11 “To set up on high those that be low; that those which mourn may be exalted to safety.”