I would quickly wipe off my tears and remind myself: Wait, I am celebrating my wonderful husband today. That should stop the tears, and bring in the cheers.
But, it was one no-brief grief moment after another. I was not as surprised, but I guess I expected that the adrenaline of making my husband enjoy his special day would be enough to keep me from missing Papa. And Kuya, my only brother.
The month of June had too many special days in it so not to feel "Papa and Kuya-sick." There's my eldest daughter's birthday on June 10. She was Papa's favorite, and Kuya's godchild. They would always try to get her the gifts my husband and I couldn't afford to buy for her. I already got accustomed to not hearing Papa's voice greet Nik, or reading his text message asking what his granddaughter wanted as a gift. But not hearing from my brother–this was the first.
And then my Papa's birthday was on the 13th of June. Our family has stopped officially celebrating it. It seems that we are doing our own celebrations individually, in our own corners, at our own paces and spaces left empty by him. My mom wants to busy herself on these special days because she really gets sad if she was caught not doing anything on that day. I remember she requested not to be reminded, or not to make a big thing out of dates like this.
And then Father's Day.
And later on still, there was June 26, my 3-year-old turned four. She was Kuya's favorite. Miro never got to see Papa, but her Ninong Pare? Oh, they had a lot of fun moments of shooting raisins in each other's mouths, even while my brother was already sick. I saw Miro very bothered, and saddened by the fact that she can't visit her Ninong Pare anymore, no more shooting-the-raisins game with him, now that he is in heaven.
I tried to quicken the crying. I did not suppress the sorrow. But I tried to hasten the sadness. This is probably why the gloom went on and on throughout the day.
And I felt guilty because I know I shouldn't be moping around. But I was. And am I glad my hubby was the kind of man that he was. I don't know if he noticed it as I did not tell him about what was happening inside me, not wanting to ruin his day. I guess anytime now, he will be finding it all out, as he reads this. And I know it will be okay.
I am tempted to waltz around with more sentiments and wallow in feeling-words but recently, a friend told me, I write too long. This must be lengthy already. But then again my friend must've been bored two, three paragraphs ago. So might as well finish this with longer or long-overdue messages.
"Papa, I appreciate how, in your living, you helped me not to fear dying, but go soar beyond the horizon. And thank you that in your death, you made me want to live to the full."
"Kuya, you were like a father to me, taking Papa's role when he passed on. Thank you. And thank you that even in your dying and most painful of days, you remained faithful to the Father, and that makes me praise Him more, even in my grief."
"Tatay, thank you for taking me seriously when I said I wanted to be the mother of your children. For carrying each of them as joys, and never burdens (no matter how heavy they are!). And for enjoying parenting the kids even while sleeping. You are truly heaven-sent."
I tried to quicken the crying. I did not suppress the sorrow. But I tried to hasten the sadness. This is probably why the gloom went on and on throughout the day.
And I felt guilty because I know I shouldn't be moping around. But I was. And am I glad my hubby was the kind of man that he was. I don't know if he noticed it as I did not tell him about what was happening inside me, not wanting to ruin his day. I guess anytime now, he will be finding it all out, as he reads this. And I know it will be okay.
I am tempted to waltz around with more sentiments and wallow in feeling-words but recently, a friend told me, I write too long. This must be lengthy already. But then again my friend must've been bored two, three paragraphs ago. So might as well finish this with longer or long-overdue messages.
"Papa, I appreciate how, in your living, you helped me not to fear dying, but go soar beyond the horizon. And thank you that in your death, you made me want to live to the full.""Kuya, you were like a father to me, taking Papa's role when he passed on. Thank you. And thank you that even in your dying and most painful of days, you remained faithful to the Father, and that makes me praise Him more, even in my grief."
"Tatay, thank you for taking me seriously when I said I wanted to be the mother of your children. For carrying each of them as joys, and never burdens (no matter how heavy they are!). And for enjoying parenting the kids even while sleeping. You are truly heaven-sent."
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