Dear Mary Ann

Dear Mary Ann,

When you asked me, 'Paano mo nakayanan? Gaano katagal?', referring to my father's death which was so long ago,  I told you, 'Yung grief, forever. Hindi mawawala. Pero you will move on, from this tragic day, to your life as before, without forgetting your sister.'

A few years back, I volunteered to learn about psycho-social first-aid (PSI) after the worst typhoon in history named 'Yolanda' hit the country. One of my mentors thought PSI is almost always given the least priority in post-disaster scenarios but most important past the relief and recovery, when people start to rebuild their lives. One time during a presentation, I was asked by a participant if I ever experienced a disaster. I said no, but I know the pain of loss, to the last strand of raw ache. I know that I felt like dying every minute I became fully aware that I will not see my Papa ever again, a few days after his death. I know that looking out the window of our car, I envied those crossing the streets living their lives as usual, but mine just crumbled. Pinag-usapan natin kagabi yan. Oh I know tragedy. It has looked me in the eye, and I looked back at it with my eyes wide open, in anger. Hindi ako umiyak. That was my way of coping: being angry and defiant to Him, who took Papa away from me. Until decades later, one day I woke up no longer angry. Hurt, but accepting. I cried buckets. After those tears, the rest of them came easy, each time I would think of the man who raised me the person I am, and how blessed I was, and still am to be called his daughter.

The question you put as to how, I was absolutely sure  that it was God's grace that bridged me through the emptiness to  a semblance of normalcy. I had responsibilities to live for, and those kept me standing. I would have chosen just to let go, not fight my weak and buckling knees, and just fall. But I did not because I was certain Papa did not want that. So I told you, Emma would not want to see you from the heavens succumb to the very tempting pull of loneliness and spiral to depression. More importantly, that way is the easiest to go, if you no longer care for those who still live, with you, around you, for you.

'How long will the grief stay?', you asked. Oh, it will never leave, Mary Ann. No matter how complete you may describe your life will be after Emma, there will always be a void somewhere in your heart which will never be filled, ever. Which is not a  bad thing altogether, really. That void exists in the spirit of love for the one who left it there, and it is there where that one person's spirit will live within you. Embrace that thought. That is the only way you can 'do this'.  My heart just gave a beat, writing this, louder, pounding on my chest. That was Papa, surely, in there. So put your palm across your chest, feel your heart, search for that beat out of the normal: that's Emma, surely, in there. 

Christianne