Because Thank You is Too Mainstream

I immediately went back to Bulacan few hours after my mother died. That week, I was reeling into slight depression already. I guess nobody knew. I am good at hiding feelings sometimes. Because I think that what we should do ... get on with things, answer questions, go through the motions. Then fall apart at appropriate times.

I let them out now. Can't help it. I'll be letting this out for a long, long time. Maybe even always, and that's alright by me. Lucky grief comes in spurts, in, out. Or else the bereaved would never get out of bed.

I saw her inside the white coffin covered with silk. Still not embalmed. She looked as if she was only sleeping. Not wooden or waxy like others. This time I could face seeing her because it was the last chance I’d ever get. Her forehead was wrinkled as if frowning; and her hair still flat and oily like the usual.

Death is such a freaky, scary, cloistered thing in our culture. Yet it happens every day. I think you can now buy tickets to watch a funeral and then see as the body gets set alight. Tickets. Like a show.

We had a wake with her friends, oh my god her friends!. So many. And every last one. Friends from childhood, neighbors, acquaintances, coworkers, churchmates. And so many more. You can really see the mark of a man through her friends.

Thank goodness for people like them to help guide us through the very worst times of our lives. My mother’s siblings, my own siblings, my family.

I wish I could repay your goodness and love.

So to all who are going through the same experience, be strong.

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