Coping with loss, loneliness with the help of ‘P.S., I Love You’
November 26, 2006 | 12:00am
This Week’s Winner
Melahnee S. Maliwat-Calica, 31, has always loved reading and listening to stories. "The first time I fell in love, it was not with a boy; it was with a book. Over the years, I have amassed so many books that in 2000, I decided to open Merick Book Rentals in La Union. I am married to a wonderful man whose work forces us to live apart most of the time and during this time books keep me company. Now, our business boasts of more than 4,000 books that our borrowers can enjoy."
P.S., I Love You by Cecelia Ahern was the first book I read after my husband left in May to work aboard a cargo ship as a seaman. It was then that I saw the world through a veil of tears – everywhere I looked, there was always something that reminded me of him. There was no escape; everything simply tugged at my heart, forcing me to go through each day overwhelmed by loneliness and misery. Memories, whether they were good or bad, brought out torrents of salty tears from my eyes. With the way I cried and cried, you’d have thought I had swallowed the reservoir of water from the La Mesa Dam and ran it dry.
Thank God, my sobbing phase lasted for only a week; otherwise, I would have led myself to dehydration. Plus, too much crying sucked out the glow from my skin and left me in a state of constant exhaustion. However, it was not my ugliness that alarmed me. It was my emotional state, as I was fast slipping into depression. It would take more than a barrage of vitamins, sleeping 24 hours a day, pigging out at eat-all-you-can restaurants and gulping drums of water to cure my heart and soul. It would take (sigh) my husband Erick to be here with me, beside me.
Thus began my camaraderie with Holly, the heroine in Cecelia Ahern’s P.S., I Love You. Unlike me, however, whose husband just went away for a job abroad, Holly’s separation from her husband Gerry was permanent. He died of a brain tumor at the early age of 30. But other than the manner of our husbands’ leaving and the ending of our stories, everything else felt somehow similar.
Both of us were struggling to cope with a life of having been left behind, of wondering if life was worth living now that the person we loved had gone away. Or worse yet, if there was still life ahead for us.
When Erick kissed me goodbye that fateful night (even though I knew he would come back home to me after 10 months), I felt my body weaken, as if my spirit left me to go with him. I was gripped with so much pain. As the days passed, the intensity of this vanished with time; yet the loneliness stayed.
Holly drifted from room to room while she sobbed her fat, salty tears. Her eyes were red and sore and there seemed to be no end to this night. None of the rooms in the house provided her with any solace. Just an unwelcoming silence as she stared around at the furniture.
The book is worded simply. It kept me company during those first days of soul-wrenching loneliness. I could have chosen any other book, but this one simply penetrated my heart like no other story could. Holly’s feelings mirrored my own. While reading through its pages, I felt like I was reading my own narrative, seeing myself as Holly, smelling her husband’s clothes, roaming around their house aimlessly, sleeping poorly and feeling just plain miserable.
This was the fifth time my husband had gone to work abroad. One would think I would have already adjusted to the life of a seaman’s wife in which the husband leaves for months or years, then returns for a few months of vacation, only to leave again. The cycle continues.
But no.
Every time Erick left, he went away carrying my heart, thus I was left incomplete, broken and aching. During those months he was away, I struggled to put my life on its right track again, collecting and putting pieces of myself together. The process was always agonizing, for, most of the time, I usually did not know where to search – or if there was something out there at all that would somehow fit the hole that our separation had carved in my heart.
Throughout the lonely, ungodly hours that I lay awake, Holly kept me company, giving me strength from her strength. Her struggles to move on with life became my inspiration.
Months after Gerry’s death, Holly receives a package of letters that he’s left for her, instructing her to perform a series of tasks…
One letter per month, starting March to December, Gerry helps Holly continue to live, giving her strength and reminding her he loves her through each task. These letters push Holly to get up each morning and face the challenges that come her way and often the process and results are hilarious, spiced up with the help of her loving and crazy family and friends.
As Holly lived each month for Gerry’s letters, I, too, lived for my husband’s text messages and phone calls. Each message from him, each call, had the power to bring sunshine into my dreary life. Though I could not touch or see him, Erick’s communications somehow bridged the distance between us and I could feel him beside me.
Through this contact, both our husbands helped us feel we were loved, thus boosting our spirits to loosen and slip free from the grips of emotional breakdown.
P.S., I Love You, a book about death and how it leaves you shattered, lost and aimless, is about the torments of grief, loneliness and depression. It reminds its readers that life can end anytime, regardless of age and sex, despite the wonderful dreams you made, or how many people loved you and you loved in return. It will make you cry. It will make you sad.
And yet. Nobody’s life is filled with perfect little moments. And if they were, they wouldn’t be perfect little moments. They would just be normal. How would you ever know happiness if you never experienced downs?
P.S., I Love You is a book about finding and having life again after death. It tells us that, no matter how broken you are over losing someone you love, there are always opportunities out there for you to find happiness; that no matter how bleak your world has become, at one time or another, the sun will always come out shining, bringing life and hope. It’s about dealing with being alone; recognizing that we need friends and family, people who refuse to give up on us after we have given up on ourselves. It reminds us of Helen Keller’s words – that when one door of happiness closes, another one opens; that if we remain focused on that closed door, we could miss seeing the other doors opening. It points out that when faced with problems, we cannot dwell on them for too long; we cannot hide; we cannot ignore them; that at some point in time, we have to face these obstacles or they will take over our lives, sucking out our will to live. It is about dealing with the past and getting on with the future by living each day, taking one step at a time.
Reading this wonderful book made me smile and laugh. I found myself giggling and gaining courage to deal with my pain.
"P.S., I love you." Gerry always wrote this phrase at the end of each of his letters to Holly.
"Honey, I love you," Erick always tells me that at the end of his calls or texts.
If you, too, want to find inspiration and strength to deal with whatever difficulty you are facing now, read Holly’s story and see how Gerry never stopped loving her after his death. It will fill your heart with sadness, then laughter, and then love.
Melahnee S. Maliwat-Calica, 31, has always loved reading and listening to stories. "The first time I fell in love, it was not with a boy; it was with a book. Over the years, I have amassed so many books that in 2000, I decided to open Merick Book Rentals in La Union. I am married to a wonderful man whose work forces us to live apart most of the time and during this time books keep me company. Now, our business boasts of more than 4,000 books that our borrowers can enjoy."
P.S., I Love You by Cecelia Ahern was the first book I read after my husband left in May to work aboard a cargo ship as a seaman. It was then that I saw the world through a veil of tears – everywhere I looked, there was always something that reminded me of him. There was no escape; everything simply tugged at my heart, forcing me to go through each day overwhelmed by loneliness and misery. Memories, whether they were good or bad, brought out torrents of salty tears from my eyes. With the way I cried and cried, you’d have thought I had swallowed the reservoir of water from the La Mesa Dam and ran it dry.
Thank God, my sobbing phase lasted for only a week; otherwise, I would have led myself to dehydration. Plus, too much crying sucked out the glow from my skin and left me in a state of constant exhaustion. However, it was not my ugliness that alarmed me. It was my emotional state, as I was fast slipping into depression. It would take more than a barrage of vitamins, sleeping 24 hours a day, pigging out at eat-all-you-can restaurants and gulping drums of water to cure my heart and soul. It would take (sigh) my husband Erick to be here with me, beside me.
Thus began my camaraderie with Holly, the heroine in Cecelia Ahern’s P.S., I Love You. Unlike me, however, whose husband just went away for a job abroad, Holly’s separation from her husband Gerry was permanent. He died of a brain tumor at the early age of 30. But other than the manner of our husbands’ leaving and the ending of our stories, everything else felt somehow similar.
Both of us were struggling to cope with a life of having been left behind, of wondering if life was worth living now that the person we loved had gone away. Or worse yet, if there was still life ahead for us.
When Erick kissed me goodbye that fateful night (even though I knew he would come back home to me after 10 months), I felt my body weaken, as if my spirit left me to go with him. I was gripped with so much pain. As the days passed, the intensity of this vanished with time; yet the loneliness stayed.
Holly drifted from room to room while she sobbed her fat, salty tears. Her eyes were red and sore and there seemed to be no end to this night. None of the rooms in the house provided her with any solace. Just an unwelcoming silence as she stared around at the furniture.
The book is worded simply. It kept me company during those first days of soul-wrenching loneliness. I could have chosen any other book, but this one simply penetrated my heart like no other story could. Holly’s feelings mirrored my own. While reading through its pages, I felt like I was reading my own narrative, seeing myself as Holly, smelling her husband’s clothes, roaming around their house aimlessly, sleeping poorly and feeling just plain miserable.
This was the fifth time my husband had gone to work abroad. One would think I would have already adjusted to the life of a seaman’s wife in which the husband leaves for months or years, then returns for a few months of vacation, only to leave again. The cycle continues.
But no.
Every time Erick left, he went away carrying my heart, thus I was left incomplete, broken and aching. During those months he was away, I struggled to put my life on its right track again, collecting and putting pieces of myself together. The process was always agonizing, for, most of the time, I usually did not know where to search – or if there was something out there at all that would somehow fit the hole that our separation had carved in my heart.
Throughout the lonely, ungodly hours that I lay awake, Holly kept me company, giving me strength from her strength. Her struggles to move on with life became my inspiration.
Months after Gerry’s death, Holly receives a package of letters that he’s left for her, instructing her to perform a series of tasks…
One letter per month, starting March to December, Gerry helps Holly continue to live, giving her strength and reminding her he loves her through each task. These letters push Holly to get up each morning and face the challenges that come her way and often the process and results are hilarious, spiced up with the help of her loving and crazy family and friends.
As Holly lived each month for Gerry’s letters, I, too, lived for my husband’s text messages and phone calls. Each message from him, each call, had the power to bring sunshine into my dreary life. Though I could not touch or see him, Erick’s communications somehow bridged the distance between us and I could feel him beside me.
Through this contact, both our husbands helped us feel we were loved, thus boosting our spirits to loosen and slip free from the grips of emotional breakdown.
P.S., I Love You, a book about death and how it leaves you shattered, lost and aimless, is about the torments of grief, loneliness and depression. It reminds its readers that life can end anytime, regardless of age and sex, despite the wonderful dreams you made, or how many people loved you and you loved in return. It will make you cry. It will make you sad.
And yet. Nobody’s life is filled with perfect little moments. And if they were, they wouldn’t be perfect little moments. They would just be normal. How would you ever know happiness if you never experienced downs?
P.S., I Love You is a book about finding and having life again after death. It tells us that, no matter how broken you are over losing someone you love, there are always opportunities out there for you to find happiness; that no matter how bleak your world has become, at one time or another, the sun will always come out shining, bringing life and hope. It’s about dealing with being alone; recognizing that we need friends and family, people who refuse to give up on us after we have given up on ourselves. It reminds us of Helen Keller’s words – that when one door of happiness closes, another one opens; that if we remain focused on that closed door, we could miss seeing the other doors opening. It points out that when faced with problems, we cannot dwell on them for too long; we cannot hide; we cannot ignore them; that at some point in time, we have to face these obstacles or they will take over our lives, sucking out our will to live. It is about dealing with the past and getting on with the future by living each day, taking one step at a time.
Reading this wonderful book made me smile and laugh. I found myself giggling and gaining courage to deal with my pain.
"P.S., I love you." Gerry always wrote this phrase at the end of each of his letters to Holly.
"Honey, I love you," Erick always tells me that at the end of his calls or texts.
If you, too, want to find inspiration and strength to deal with whatever difficulty you are facing now, read Holly’s story and see how Gerry never stopped loving her after his death. It will fill your heart with sadness, then laughter, and then love.
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