Closures (Part 2)

"Written by a friend for his ex-girlfriend"

Some humid nights ago during lent, I was awakened by a beautiful dream which went onto almost becoming a nightmare. The dream started with a faceless lady whispering "I love you" in my dreamscapes of lush gardens planted with maybe peach-coloured tulips and roses and a variety of ornamentals. In the dream, she embraced me and I embraced her back. We held each other, felt each other's warmth, listened to each other's heartbeat. Suddenly the lady set herself free and started stabbing my heart. She kept on stabbing me while I was in shock. In that state, I woke up. I felt lonelier than ever. I cried and I wanted to cry more but the thought of asking myself about what my dream meant overwhelmed me.

Deep inside, I knew who the girl in my dream was. But like a fool thinking that dreams are reversed in real life, I curtained my thoughts. Hours after the dream, I cannot help but draw out its significance in my life. I reflected on the idea that the dream was about the woman whom I have loved all these years but never did return the same kind of love back to me. And in so doing, I was hurt. Not because she never actually returned the love back, but more importantly, under the present circumstances, she really cannot love me the way I love her. Not as a lover, maybe not even as a friend.

What hurts most is the fact that she is actually working it out with the person whom she married but lately found out to have lost respect for her (that's what she said). Now, I feel like a rabid opportunist for grabbing the chance to become more than close to her when I knew that she does not love him anymore (or so I thought?). I kept thinking about the possibility of losing one's love for someone and yet still try to make the relationship work. Aside from finding it paradoxical, I find it self-defeating. Or am I just still interested in her? I admit I am.

Ahhhh, now I know - The kids - two lovely children (and probably a new one spawned during the lenten vacation) - who cannot be caught up in the complicated turmoil of a separation. The movie and comic-like drama of using children to salvage a marriage that has lost its inspiration - love and respect - is played up, again and again, along with perpetual religious overtones highlighted by phrases ceremoniously uttered by would-be-husbands and wives in their respective wedding days. But then again, maybe it's just me and my self-centered, selfish affectations for her that pushes me to desire her separation. Now, you know what a selfish jerk I am. Is this love for real? Are my feelings for her really sincere? Who cares?! I believe that it makes no difference now. Not ever.

I figured that there would be no more promises of exploring each other's sexuality and pleasures, no more plans to stay overnight at a company-owned hotel in Manila, no more brief, tight cuddles; no more teasing text messages, no more office calls, no letters, and ultimately, no hope of being together. It's that simple. Nothing. As if everything just came into this grinding halt, and all that is felt remain unsure. *Needless of any definition, I love her still though, and I would continue doing so within my undefined lifetime.* That's all I ever wanted to tell her. And with things being worked out between her and her husband - she doesn't have to know where I am and how I am. She doesn't have to even remember the things that make her remind me of who I am.

As a final gesture of letting her go, I finally gave her portrait. For years, I whispered to that portrait, gazed into her charcoal-drawn eyes,smiled at her paper-laden smile...kissed her before sleeping at night... I have held her portrait for quite a time, and now, it's time to be given to its rightful owner for her to decide what to do with it. Like the old letters and cards, it could also be burnt to ashes and flushed down memory lane.

Life is full of contradictions, it makes the world go round; it is continuity. It is life in itself. Only ambivalence in the realm of love stops it. It stopped my world from revolving. It closed my life.

I choose to be okay

Some people close to me may be wondering why I look okay despite the recent tragedy in my life. Maybe it's just my personality or maybe I am just aware of the realities of life. I cannot stop living even when my husband has passed away.

I chose not to cry when I saw my husband on the ER bed. Because, I just talked to him minutes back and I didn't think then that he will be leaving us. I knew then that he will pull through. I also didn't want the kids to see me giving up their father's life.

I now choose to be okay, to move on, to get a life. I just can't sulk in one corner and let everyone witness how i grieve. I just can't be boxed in the stereotype "grieving wife". In this country, widows are expected to cry buckets of tears until we're probably dehydrated from crying. Widows are expected to wear black to signify that "yes, i am grieving". Widows should not go out and have fun with my kids and friends, because that is a disrespect to the person who passed away. Probably, not even expected to be seen smiling or laughing, because maybe then, people would think I'm celebrating. Simply put, widows are expected to "die" with their husbands.

In as much as I would like to spend the whole month, the whole year or even my whole life crying over my husband's passing, it's just not me. It's not that I refused to it's just that I don't think it would do me and my kids any good. Practically speaking, tears cannot feed 2 hungry kids. Wearing black cannot send 2 kids to school. And sulking can NEVER pay bills.

This is not to say that I am way past the grieving stage. I still am grieving. I still have my moments of wishing he's still with me. Moments of crying and sobbing. But, I do that in the confines of my own space. And I do that to unload my heart of the pain. In fact, I don't think I can ever recover from Reddy's passing. Feeling and being okay is just my way of coping. Of moving on. I don't want to apologize for falling short of people's expectations of how i should grieve. Again, other people's expectation can neither feed me and my kids, send them to school and pay my bills. This is just how I handle loss. And I think this is how it should be done.

Not crying buckets of tears, not wearing black, going out with my friends will never ever mean that I have stopped and would ever stop loving Reddy. He will always be a part of my life. A very special and vital part of my person. Having said that, I have gotten part of my strength from him. And I know this is how he would want me to deal with my grief.