Un-dying

Memories will never die. I realize this after my first taste of the death of a loved one. You live in suspended disbelief during the three days of the wake. You shed an ocean of tears during the internment. Then you move on with your life, however incomplete it has become. But in one unguarded moment, something stirs your memories and you remember them. It can be a song, a thing she loved...in my instance even a rock. The remembrance steals your breath; the pain sears and clutches the heart.

This year, I will be celebrating more deaths than ever. I can still remember how I learned of each death. Nothing can prepare you for it. It’s difficult to forget the point where your life took an abrupt turn. The memories are sharp, like broken shards of glass. Yes, the pain of loss does fade in time, but it is the kind that will never truly go away.



I have always been sensitive about the death of a loved one, even before I had my firsthand experience. I remember when A’s dad died in sixth grade. I thought it was cruel; how can a good-hearted girl be given such unkind fate. When she returned to school, I don’t know what to say to her. I don’t want to ask if she was OK. That is probably one of the most inconsiderate questions ever invented. How can you ask someone who just lost her dad if she was okay? Of course she is not! So I think I just smiled, hoping that will convey my sympathy. But I decided it was too uncaring so I asked her what happened. In the process, I ended up making her cry as she recollected her dad’s last hours.

Three years later, I was at the other end of that table.

There have been good days, in as much as there have been darker days. Now that I am in a much better place in life, I wish my departed loved ones could see what I have become. A lesser disappointment. I longed for their pat on my shoulders after surviving each fall. Especially my Lola. She always championed what I am and what I want; accepting my flaws and applauding my smallest feats. At the lowest point in my life, she was one of the handful who did not look at me with disillusionment and odium. When she passed on, I felt so alone for the first time in my life. From then on I started living in shadows. I learned to be autonomous...to deaden and detach myself. Depend on myself.

When my dad died, my life rebooted. It forced me to let go and come to terms with a lot of things.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the person I was supposed to be. If this is the life I was meant to live. Or is this some kind of half-life, a metamorphosis engineered by loss and expectations and reinforced by the will to survive.

I realize what I missed most about family who have passed on is their rock presence. Their being there, regardless if you need them or not. At 30, I still feel like a child sometimes. A child trying to grab hold of a hand; only to realize it is not there anymore.



***

I've seen fire and I've seen rain
I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end
I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend
But I always thought that I'd see you again
Thought I'd see you one more time again
There's just a few things coming my way this time around... now
-James Taylor