Mourning

Twenty-four hours ago, I was standing in front of a blue coffin, feeling indifferent from the implications of his death. I had seen him before, had smiled at him, uttered a word or two, talked about him with his daughter several times, and that was it. Numbness, not indifference, perhaps. Yet it could simply be my form of defense: being in the state of denial. But in the end it was unexplainable. Part of me anticipated that his long battle will end tragically; part of me is anxious what will happen next (despite having totally no control of it); and part of me is fancying to be in her shoes. She has been lamenting and sleepless and physically malnourished for days.

Taking her place, I may have responded in a very different way. The best I can do (taking from the moralists' eyes) is to be speechless and respect the spirit of death. The worse I can do (again, taking from the moralists' eyes) is to shrug and be happy for my father, since I can assume that he's already with his object of worship.

He was loved and he loved. But he was prepared, and they would never be. Under a cloudy day wrapped in an eerie space, attended solely by loved ones who are not even whispering intrigues, that humble moment is the most solemn internment I have been into. No requiems nor eulogies yet. Just silent prayers of hope that after life exists so he may receive the eternal peace he deserves.

I even smelled his celebration, his achievement of being the pillar of the family, although they are barely beginning their lives. He still missed spurs of the moment. He will never walk with his eldest down the aisle; he failed to witness his son's first born; he will no longer see his youngest bloom in her youth. I could never say he is the perfect father, but despite his imperfections, I can feel his openness and his humble recognition of his mistakes. He must have been very sincere in saying sorry.

At that moment, something is haunting me at the back of my mind. Is my father the next in line? Am I actually foreseeing it or simply anticipating it? He has been emotional since discovering his complex sickness and was further brought down upon hearing another father's death. His battle may compel him to surrender, despite being stubborn to what he wants all his life and despite his self-acclaimed strong faith. Because albeit his love of abstractions, his feet refuses to touch the ground. He is not with us, and it sadly obscures his importance to his 'loved' ones.