Over four years ago, my dad died. Grief struck like a freight train and I’d sleep for most of the day while someone I thought I could trust took care of the arrangements. (Quick fact – I shouldn’t have trusted him, but that’s another story).
Dad was the one who guided and supported me, all throughout the tough times and the better times too. His stories inspired me to come home to the Philippines, to work towards a mission that our relatives balked at. Losing him meant losing my foundation. And when a tornado sweeps through a house, the foundation is usually the only thing left. Losing even that was… unthinkable.
There is no mom in this picture. Easier to think she died of cancer (which she actually survived) than to remember what she did afterwards… Dad was all there was. And also my brother, who had survived the tough times somewhat unscathed due to a child’s ability to block out shouting and forget stuff when glued to a tv screen or video game.
We all cope in our own ways.
I have a story about grief. I plotted it out in 2007 when I was outlining the Hunting the Rememberer series. But only in 2018 did I realize what grief actually felt like. It was more than crying your eyes out because your abusive mother killed two litters of cats that you were caring for. It’s heavier than that when you lose the ground from beneath your feet. When you feel the loss, it hits like a freight train. Or emotions just go numb.
That I write this with two cats curled up beside me is my only consolation. It gets better, somehow. With a chunk of inheritance, I found a way to escape the pain without it turning into a vice that could harm others. I immersed myself in another storyverse – Marvel comics. More on that tomorrow.