'Feeling'

I was chatting with a godson I have not really seen in a while, but Facebook again gave us the chance to get to know each other, sort of. He is leaving for the USA in a couple of days and he was feeling sad, even if he wanted to go and join his mom there. I told him, yes, it is sad. I did not deflect the sadness by saying the usual stuff to make him feel good about leaving. I just told him to go with positivity, because first, he has been wanting to go there for some time, and second, because he would work to earn his keep. I told him to save up, and come home to his girl, who he says, he likes very, very much (I did not presume love, that would be all-knowing of me). And to look forward to coming home again, to us. Of course, he was still sad when we ended our chat. Sadness. I have been through the extreme of that, now knowing it. I remember when Papa was in the hospital waiting for God to finally hold his hand to home, I felt numb. I would sit inside the van from the hospital to run errands for the brood staying by his bedside, and look at people go about their lives normally, crossing the deadly streets of Quezon City, stuff like that. The thought passing my mind then was, 'why is their world still going on as usual, when mine was falling apart?'. I started to ask questions, of God, of why this was happening, searching for answers which would give me a reason. I was searching for rational explanation for the drama surrounding me and my life. Hindsight, I now realize I was looking for objectivity, to be able to understand with this logical brain of mine, what was happening. Papa passed away in the morning on November 16, and I do not remember what year, honestly. I kept it away from my subconscious all these years. When he was pronounced dead by the resident doctor, I did not cry. Everyone, I recall, was going crazy, Mama was freaking out. My siblings, my aunts and uncles sniffling quietly in corners of this hospital room we have been in for a month and a half. After singing a song of blessing for Papa as a family, I walked to the payphone nearest to us and called my friend in the province, Maan, to help me start the arrangements. She was to do the difficult task of telling my Lolo and Lola of the sad news, of having the house in our hometown clean and ready for Papa's wake, and other preparations. I called a funeral parlor near our hometown for transport for Papa, thinking that he would not want to be in a jeepney of some sort on his final journey home. Of course the details of his wake, his memorial service, his interment, etc., I also had to think of and arrange, with the help of my family. Throughout, I did not cry. I did not have the luxury to grieve, I had to make things 'right' for Papa.  A couple of years after, I started to feel funny stuff. I would hyperventilate for no reason, I would have irregular heartbeats I would feel clawing at the base of my throat, I would feel faint. Always, my sister Beks would hurriedly take me to the emergency room, and after taking my vitals, the doctor would say, I was fine. No sign of anything abnormal. It went on and on until I was made to take all tests possible to explain what was happening. Nothing was wrong. So finally, my doctor (who remains to be my doctor today and I so love) asked me so politely if he could refer me to a psychiatrist. A shrink. In my desperation, I said alright. Let's do this. Just to be well again. So I went to this lady-psychiatrist, a very kind, soft-spoken woman, who said one thing to me I will never forget; that it takes a lot of courage for a person to admit that something was 'off' in the mind. She said I was showing early signs of depression. She put me on medication for a year. So much for repression of my grief and denial of my sadness, of looking for 'reason', when now I am made to recognize that no 'reason' can explain these feelings. Sadness. Repression of sadness. Of feelings. Because we all want to get to a goal, to achieve something, to get it right. Whether to get Papa's passing done properly, or to fix my own life, I had to postpone 'feeling'. I learned that this is wrong, the hard way. Only years after my denial of my grief, sadness and anger over Papa's death did I realize that one has to deal with all that by having the courage to acknowledge these feelings, let yourself 'feel' them. And when you ard done, you dust your sleeves off, rise and walk again. Walk with the prayer of thanks that while you tortured yourself with the heavy feeling in the chest, and of crying for missing someone, for loving someone to a fault, you 'felt'. Like a human being should. We are unique creations by God, because we are gifted with the ability to 'feel'. To say, 'I love you' to someone, yet be able to set aside feelings of melancholy and fondness, is like a 'default setting' , as my brother always says. 'I love you' means nothing. I am no psychologist, my daughter who will graduate from that course knows better, definitely. But I am human. And I feel sadness, melancholy, grief, anger, rapture, love. I do not want to be less than human. Not anymore.