'We never said goodbye'

This Christmas, while most people are celebrating, reveling in the presence of their loved ones and luxuriating in the cheer the holidays bring, there are those who cannot bear to listen to Silent Night in the darkness of their grief, even amidst the glitter of tinsel and Christmas lights.

Christmas is especially hard for those who have lost their loved ones in December  like those who lost their loved ones in last Sunday’s fire in Cagayan. Pangasinan Rep. Gina de Venecia also lost her youngest daughter to a fire in December six years ago. Since KC died, she has not put up a Christmas tree in her house, although she has started to invite friends for get-togethers.

Christmas is also difficult for those who would have celebrated their loved ones’ birthdays and anniversaries in December. For my mother Sonia, this Christmas will be doubly difficult. There will be an empty chair at the head of our Christmas table. The real Santa Claus of the past 50 years of her life is gone.

My mom and dad, Frank, would have also celebrated their Golden Wedding Anniversary last Dec. 17. Dad, who passed away on July 6 this year, just a week before his 78th birthday, had so looked forward to their Golden Wedding Anniversary. When he was in his hospital bed and my sister Geraldine, a psychiatrist, would try to fish out from him his thoughts on his impending death, he would say he wanted to save money for his Golden Wedding celebration. You see, Geraldine had suggested he treat himself to something nice and expensive like a Rolex and he waved her off, saying he was setting aside his money for Dec. 17. He wanted to march down the aisle again with his beautiful bride of 50 years.

That is perhaps why he and Mom never said goodbye to each other. Dad was the consummate fighter who fought till the last round to win his battle against an almost undefeated heavyweight — cancer of the pancreas. Even when he was having a difficult time from the side effects of his treatments, he never said, “I give up.” He never asked for quality of life over life. He always chose life. That is why his oncologist was always researching for new protocols for Dad’s chemo treatment even in Dad’s last few days. Dad just wouldn’t give up.

At the end of the day, when it was time for Mom to leave the hospital room (“bantays” were not allowed to stay overnight in the US hospital where Dad had been confined), she would kiss him and say, “See you tomorrow, Dad.” And he would smile and nod. He never said goodbye, either.

Looking back, Mom says now it was because Dad never gave up on life. He always thought he would wake up to a new day. He had such faith in God and in his doctors that he would last till his Golden Wedding Anniversary on Dec. 17. He was making plans for it. Till then, he and Mom were not saying goodbye to each other.

After Dad died, Mom dreaded the coming of Dec. 17, 2010. But when it did, she faced it, undaunted. I accompanied Mom to the Manila Memorial Park in the morning of Dec. 17. She wanted to start her day by greeting Dad. She didn’t break down like I feared she would. “Happy anniversary, Dad. We had wanted so much to celebrate this day, but maybe God has other plans.” There were tears in the corners of her eyes, but she held her chin high.

I knew then that Mom knew for sure that she and Dad were going to see each other again. They never said goodbye because their hearts already promised each other, “Till we meet again…”

* * *

During a get-together we had shortly before KC’s sixth death anniversary, a friend ask Manay Gina how she was able to get over her grief after KC’s death.

“I will never get over it. But I was able to move on,” Manay Gina answered. What helped her was the support she got from family and friends (especially other bereaved mothers from the INA Foundation). “After a while, the interval between the tears became longer and longer.”

Gina shares with STAR readers the poem composed by her son Christopher on KC’s 6th death anniversary:

I dreamt once of a child who walked by her mother’s side.

She ran through valleys, scaled mountains and crossed oceans far and wide.

She spoke her mind, loved adventure and set off to conquer the world.

One journey after another, her legacy unfurled.

There was a hunger in her eyes that showed so much spark.

Her insatiable passion could overthrow the dark.

She was a light that brought fondness to all of our hearts,

until such time that tragedy kept us apart.

I dreamt once of a child who spoke with so much hope,

who, despite extraordinary circumstances, had learned to cope.

Cousin, daughter, sister, and to most, a friend.

Her unwavering loyalty transcended till the end.

She was unique, in any form, shape or way.

Her radiance was unlike any that had ever seen the day.

She was a ray of sunshine that always shone bright.

But the flames were overwhelming that one awful night.

I dreamt once of a child who waited for life to start.

Her future ahead of her with so much excitement in her heart.

She could have sung a few songs, taken up fashion, or law.

She had a way of seeing things that kept us in awe.

 She was everything a star had destined to become.

Living life to the fullest would become her solemn psalm.

She became her own woman, tore away the silver spoon.

But like a thief in the night, her life was gone too soon.

 I dreamt once of a child that has simply been away

on a very long sojourn to Paris, Rome or St. Tropez.

That I’d walk into a room and she’d finally be back

as we catch up on her travels and I help her unpack.

Her absence has made my heart grow fonder.

I talk with her continuously, hug her tight then wonder.

“Will this beautiful reverie ever come to an end?”

And then I awoke, short of breath — my tears all spent.

 It was just another dream — happiness and then pain.

The thought of your passing is more than I can take.

KC, my dear KC, who left me all too soon.

How are you? Are you happy? I look towards the moon.

Six years have passed KC since you left us here.

The wounds are less, but not completely healed.

I know that we can rendezvous in the happiest of dreams.

But happiness is not always what it seems.

I’m happy that you’re with our Maker.

But I’d be happier if you left us much, much later,

when we’re all together old, and all together grey.

For now, as forever, I solemnly pray.

I look forward to the day that I’ll get back my friend.

Dear Lord, strengthen me, comfort me till the end.

For now, I’ll take comfort in passing butterflies.

Pick up the pieces, strive to live, as my hopeful compromise.

 I love you KC with all my heart.

Dear Lord, through my countenance, KC will never depart.

Six years will be seven, and seven will be ten.

Until such day, we finally will meet again. Amen

* * *

To those who have experienced a painful loss, I share the thought that you are not alone.

Give yourself permission to grieve but remember that joy and sorrow can co-exist. Sorrow exists so joy, like the morning, can be more glorious when it comes.

(You may e-mail me at [email protected])