DAY 7 - EMMAUS
"Jesus
himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing
him....They stood still, their faces downcast."
The emotional pain from losing my father is so immense, that it
manifests in the physical - tightening of the chest, hyperventilation, loss of
appetite.
Stood still? Downcast? My word for that is "tulala". I would
go about my day, zombie-like. Looking
but not seeing. Hearing but not listening. Existing
but not living. Recounting
in my mind every day the memories of Dad's suffering. Like the
distraught disciples, unable
to move past Golgotha, past the image of Dad's eyes taped shut with gauze as we
waited for him to breathe his last. My mind
got stuck at February 27, 4:54am, refusing to accept that at 4:55am, the tomb
was already empty.
"Then
their eyes were opened and they recognized him."
The little, unexplainable occurrences that has "Dad"
marked all over them. Like
when Mom searches for her lost IDs for 3 days, then finds them in the same bag
where she looked, after asking for Dad's help. The
concessions from Dad's suppliers. Clients
who say yes after saying no. And the
unmistakable scent of flowers every time we had figured out and accomplished
something that would make Dad smile.
And as my mind gradually learns to accept that death is but a
doorway to another life, then it will eventually teach me to see Dad again, not
with my eyes but with my heart.
"Were
not our hearts burning within us..."
Me: I'm kinda excited to go back to Antipolo next week.
Richard: Why?
Me: Because I think I'm ok now. But I
will know for sure if I'm REALLY ok when I go to Dad's house, and...
Richard: Don't expect too much too soon, it will take time. But you
will know you're ok when you finally realize that they actually never left, and
that they will always be with you wherever you go.
Almost there. Emmaus on the horizon. Or as my daughter
Reesa would tell me, konting kembot nalang, Mom.
Antayin mo, Dad. Malapit
nang bumalik ang ngiti sa labi at puso ko.
