When I lost JC seven years ago, the excruciating agony shooting through my body was the worst I’ve ever known. It was hurting like hell. It is an understatement and more than that was not even enough. No amount of human power could ease the unbearable pain I had gone through. I almost lost all the capability to live while wrestling with something nobody ever wins.
I have no idea how I made it to this day. Knowing someone going through the same still confuses me if I am aching for them more than I am aching for myself too. There is no series of steps like most people believe that we can take to end the grieving. I am not also sure if I ever did. What I can only say today is that we can learn to live with it and somehow make the most out of it. Anyway, nothing really dies.
I know death will come but I never live believing it will. If I did, perhaps I have done things differently. I could have been more loving and forgiving every day. I could have wasted no time magnifying his flaws. I could have focused on savoring every moment with him and hugging him and laughing with him. I felt so dumb living life with him unmindful of its precious moment more often than not. When he left I realize that’s all I’ve got.
Leaving me with agony beyond compare and the delusion of trying to bring his life back again I supposed, I turn to my journal and write to him every day. Writing was the only task I can manage then that does not require anything I can’t. I’ve known it since young. I write when life was difficult and when pleasant as well. With every stroke of my pen, I feel connected to him again just like the old days do. It doesn’t matter if it is an illusion I created for myself since it was providing me the deepest desire of my heart, to have him around alive. Writing to him just did that.
There was a deep longing within to get in touch with him and there’s no other way except to write hoping he will hear what I am trying to say, and it did. I told him how difficult it was absorbing the thoughts that he would never be here anymore, and I do not know what to do and I just want him around. I had no idea then that those daily letters for him on my journal would give birth to something that will extend his life until we meet again and perhaps beyond. And for all the one we lost, their story lives, it will never die.
I was yearning for answers as to where he will be and what happens to him in the life hereafter. It had never been simple to accept that his body will go through the process of decomposition as soon as it touches the ground. Then it will go back to the element where it came from and new living things will spring out of there once more. It took time before I realize that death is not only dying; it is also a continuous cycle of living as well.
More difficult still is to comprehend those that which my senses could not grasp. I cannot feel his spirit which he was composed of. I cannot see it; I cannot hear nor touch it. What happens to this part of him? Did I lose all of him? Was he just a body? I know he is not; he was more than that. He was more than the body of JC, the name we choose for him.
He was the JC I love and took care of. And it never ceased to be like that. When all the stuff is gone only those things left in our heart remain. It never dies and it can continue to blossom as long as we believe. Death is not leaving after all but hopes in the promises coming true. It is going back to a father’s embrace when everything is over, finish, or not finish. Doesn’t matter at all since love is all there is. And as long as we keep loving nothing really dies.