An ode to a loving ninong whose kindness and humility have grounded my outlook towards life. You have been and will always be a great source of strength and inspiration. Love you and will always miss you!!
Here are additional notes written afterward...
Death is a strange subject.
After all, it took me more than two months to finally gather my thoughts to write something! My ninong died back in the Philippines on November 12, one day after Remembrance Day, which is ironic because I'm not sure if the day itself will ever stick in my head...? Not because I don't want to remember, but more because the idea of my ninong being gone is still unreal. And perhaps we sort of already had an idea that he was going to pass, so we were prepared for the news. (Gosh, I hope this doesn't mean that in our hearts, we already deemed him gone...?!!! No! I refuse to believe that! I know we were hoping to go back to visit him during the Christmas holiday...we were urging him to hold on!)
Death is a strange subject.
It feels like I'm in a chasm, helpless while sitting on one side listening to others speak of death and dying, especially when I have not yet been touched by its numbing, debilitating effect. I don't know if you have to be in close proximity to feel true grief when that time comes, or perhaps have an even closer connection, one which will affect your life after the loss of it, before you can allow yourself to cry, but whatever the case, I feel guilty because what I'm feeling isn't as strong or heart-rending as I suppose I thought it should be. Don't get me wrong. I still love my ninong, but it just feels wrong somehow that I have not yet cried for him. Maybe I reject the idea that he's gone...that this year in May, he'll come to my country with ninang and our cousins and we'll all tell stupid stories and get uproariously high on laughter!
Death is a strange subject.
I once read in "Monkey Beach" by Eden Robinson, that you only know the human body when you're faced with the reality of its deterioration. The main character, Lisamarie, discovers the mechanical structure of the heart only when her grandmother, if I remember correctly, is dying. When we realize the cause of why a body is weakening, the idea that death is possible is realized. Maybe that's why I can't accept his death...because I never asked what happened. All I know is that one of his organs failed him in the end. Why why why? I'm afraid to ask because I don't want this to be a reality.
Death is a strange subject.
There are five stages of grief as defined by Elisabeth Kübler-Ross in her 1969 book, "On Death and Dying". I guess two months later...I'm still at denial. I wonder how long it will take to get to anger?
