Nov 3, 2012

Of words unsaid

I have no idea how to say it. The words feel wrong, somehow. It's been exactly 231 days since I read my Mother's text, telling me my Grandfather has given up his fight for life.

Lolo and me
I was just about to drop by the hospital later that day, after my daughter's pre-school graduation. It was supposed to be my first time to see him in the hospital, because work (and clothes not fit for public hospitals) got in the way. 

I rushed to the hospital as soon as I can, hoping to at least get a glimpse of him before they take him out of his room. Unfortunately, all I saw was my aunt who hugged me and told me that it was okay - Lolo knew I wanted to see him and that was what's important.

But it's not okay. I wanted to see him, and I didn't get to see him. 

I went to my daughter's graduation and just got ready to visit my Lolo's wake at night.

Now, whenever I go to somebody's relative's wake, I try as much as I can to not sneak a peek at the person lying, alone, inside a nice coffin. It's not that I have an irrational fear of dead people, I just felt that I owe it to the person's loved ones to not steal a glance at him/her, give them all his/her's dead-ful glory.

But because the person lying in that nice coffin happens to be MY loved one, MY dead person, MY Lolo, I had actually wanted to take that glass lid off and put him in my arms, kiss his forehead, smell this cheek - for the last time. Up till now I cannot, for the life of me, describe how it truly felt seeing him lying there, all the life sucked out of him. That's my Lolo, and I'm his Supergirl, his favorite apo. And I can't do anything. 

I had wanted to give him a proper eulogy. But it's not done yet. I have no idea how to say it. 

The words "Lolo's grave" still make me choke.