To Uncle Toto

 I'm used to death.

My father died when I was 11, my grandmother died when I was 13, two of my uncles died when I was younger, and I never even got to meet my grandfather. I'm used to bittersweet stories and sad longing and overwhelming grief. I'm used to funerals and going to the cemetery for Father's Day and tragic smiles over what could have been.
My uncle died when I was 15, just a week ago.
It was an accident and unexpected and because of that, all the more devastating. In Les Misearables, Marius sings, "There's a grief that can't be spoken." And I can see that all around.
There's the grief of his wife, his children, his siblings, his mother, his father, his friends, his family. There's the grief of his boss, of his neighbors, of his former classmates, of the people who used to buy food from him. There's the grief of those who sympathize, the grief of those who empathize, and the grief of those who will truly miss him. The grief of those who will feel his absence. The grief of those who, despite all their trying, will remember.
"Condolence" is not enough and "Stay strong" is too idealistic. If I have a message, it's this: Grieve now. Grieve for the past you had and for the future that will never happen. Grieve as much as you like. And tomorrow, at his funeral, cry. And the day after that, remember that you're still alive. Take a deep breath. And another. And another.
We live for those who can't anymore. Maybe my one regret is that I never got to drink with my uncle before he died. So tonight, I raise a glass to him.
Rest in peace, Runie Briones.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

NAT Reviewer (2) - Araling Panlipunan IV

MTOT for G10 in Araling Panlipunan: An Impression

The Catcher In The Rye and The Concept of Communication