Prose and poetry of my rollercoaster rides and bittersweet valentines. Plus--blogs, blues and bliss.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Loss and Love
(2014, Jennifer Aniston film) is an emotionally-charged little indie
movie that deals with pain—from physical wound and most especially,
pain from the loss of a loved one. Loss of a son. It could also be
loss of wife, husband, mother, father, very close friend. This kind
of pain, although I may not have experienced the deepest of it, I
believe—is a pain that is the worst. It's like you are alive but
“dead” inside. I lost my mom in 2005 and still, I am grieving
her—yet I couldn't imagine losing a child forever. Especially to a
mother from whose body and blood the child came out from.
my son was maybe 5 years old, I “lost” him in a frenzy in the
open market back home. I used to bring my kids to the market when
they were little so we could choose together what's up for dinner and
then rent some videos for the weekend. Suddenly, Duane was gone—as
we entered a video store. I was in panic, I was hysterical inside.
The next 20 or 30 minutes—I scoured the market, frantically asked
vendors, ran to the police station—it was like I was suspended on
midair, all oxygen in me was gone but I was moving in all directions.
I froze yet my body was on a rush like I was driving 100s on a
highway. My heart, my mind were all about Duane. I just didn't know
what to feel, what to think—I just wanted him back.
a jeepney driver told me that Duane rode another jeepney to our
house! Amazingly, my son knew what to do, where to go, and which
jeepney to ride on to get home. He was already home when I got there.
I held my son and just calmly said, “Never get lost again. Never.”
on my 47th birthday in 2007, while here in Asheville, Duane
contracted a deadly virus from most likely, eating street food
following flooding/typhoon in Manila. The virus was eating him up
fast and rendered half of his body paralyzed in few hours. He needed
shots or 5 or 7 vials of antibiotics badly, if not, he'd die. In
those hours of waiting, on the other side of the (telephone) line
across continents, I felt I died. I didn't want another year in my
life, no more—just give those years to my son. I can give my life
to my son anytime. He was 21 at that time.
1995, I messed up my lungs so badly from overworking, not sleeping
rightly, forgetting to eat, exhaustion. I collapsed, brought to ER
and ICU. “Dead” for few minutes. In the haze, I cried out loud in
that life-death stupor, “If there's a God and you are witnessing
this—pull me out of this shit right now. I cannot leave my kids.
Let me live for my kids, please!” The nurses and doctors later told
me that it was close to a miracle that I survived. There was even a
parish priest on my hospital bed.
is drama, I know... But hearing and listening stories of friends who
lost their loved ones is no drama. That is life. That is love. That
is humanity. That loss will stay in their heart and mind as they
live. All my kids, now in their 20s, are healthy and intelligent, and
so young and motivated. Any dreams that I built when I was young are
dwarfed by the dreams that my kids pursue for themselves. Their joy
and success bring more life to me. They are my heartbeat and my
spirit. My life.
the movie, fortunately ended in a good promising note. The grieving
mother only had to accept that she was a good mother, she was—and
she deserves life after the loss of her son. That life is
a gift, not a bitter pill. Life is love. We will only embrace life
after loss (of a loved one)—by accepting that good memories stay
after they left. Only good memories. And those memories are the
inspiration that makes us see light again.