It hasn't been a good year for everyone. COVID-19 made it difficult. The lingering mourning of death takes center stage in this period of times. How sad, how cruel, how heart-wrenching must it be to be in a situation where there's nothing you can do to prevent your loved ones from suffering.
Such are my thoughts - my detached empathy - towards everyone who is suffering.
I never would have thought grief would knock my door too.
At least, it wasn't something I thought would happen so suddenly.
My eldest sister died on May 19th.
I receive a call from my father to gather everyone in one room as he had something to say. I didn't think much of it. I called my brother lazily and sat down next to my mother in her room in such a relaxed manner.
"She's not here anymore. She's gone."
My mother broke into a curled sob, her body being cradled by both my brother and I. I stared at my brother and we were both dumbfounded. The first thing to do was make sure our mother was alright, was what I perceive a voiceless agreement.
Months later, I found myself still surrounded by her memory.
I grieved alright. I made sure not to be an emotionless figure like I was when my late grandfather died. Still, I promised myself not to have regrets. Yet, I never get to say sorry to her. For all the things I've said, whether accidentally or on purpose.
As if laughing at my own thoughts, I can only think as a snob would, "ah.. this things happen to me too."
I'm no one special. I wish she would give us some closure, but as it is when she was alive and away, she'll always haunt us, be it achievements, or memories.
My sister, you set too high a benchmark even in your death. Too many people loves you.
I wish my grief doesn't come in this sarcastic form.
I love you.
Goodnight.
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