Dear Mom, it has been almost 17 years since you left us that I have written about how we missed your presence. This is to tell you the longing I expressed in those letters hasn’t changed one bit. Interestingly enough, I was asked just a couple of weeks ago by an old acquaintance how does one get over the loss of a loved one. Does it take years for one to recover, she mused. (Funny how they use that word, recover.) Does the ache go away?
I clearly remember that day. This is not a complete answer, mind you, imagining to answer her query now. With each year, I just try harder. True, the pains appear to become duller with the years but it never really goes away. It’s just cop-out simple to say or merely write “I miss you Mom” or “I miss you badly momsy”, as these never capture how one truly feels. Most often, it even feels like whistling in the dark whenever I do it.
On the brighter side, I believe it’s not wrong to heal oneself by thinking, ‘if only you could see this’ or ‘how I wish you were here to witness how your great-grandchildren have grown’ or whatever. I guess that’s healing in a sense because I’m sharing things with you still, as though you have never really left us.
With our two elder siblings already gone ahead to be with you and pops finally joining you guys a couple of years ago, it’s getting to be a party up there I imagine. Add the rest of our grandparents, it must be one great mahjong party over there now. I’m afraid the rest of us here have already forgotten that game we grew up with, with memories of all of you in the lanai until the late evenings. I even bet all your great-grandchildren now would be asking ‘what’s that’ if we showed them the ancient tiles we played with in the old days.
All these aside, I remember one time with you, looking at all those old photo albums you kept with care inside your wardrobe cabinet. All those faded black and whites of your younger days, mixed with 60s of the rest of us in Kodachrome. It won’t be long when my sentiment back then of “what an ancient time”, would be uttered by our clan’s growing boys and girls playing in the yard, when it’s their turn to see these aged prints.
Just to tell you, while I guess seventeen years must mean nothing in your part of the universe and heaven, it painfully drags on down here. The feel that with each year, like slowly becoming part of that old photo album, we’d be there eventually with the rest of you, is just what keeps it all going. Bye for now, see you all soon.
