Of dried leaves, grief, and prayers
“Leaves will soon grow from the bareness of trees
And all will be alright in time.”
—Leaves, Ben & Ben
Last Saturday, I went home to the province to be with my Mom. Our family was going through a tough time as one of my aunts was at the hospital for almost a month already. I stayed for six days with my Mom. We prayed together during the first two nights for the peaceful passing of my aunt (she was given only a few days to live already…) , but on the next days and nights, the intentions changed to the repose of her soul. She passed on the Feast Day of the Holy Trinity, both in the Philippines and in the US.
How swift it all was, this change of prayer intentions.
How swift it all was, a person’s life on this earth.
We prayed litanies, expressed petitions, and asked for prayers from those my Tita and our family knew. But of course, with the great mystery of life, the will of God, the free will of a soul, and the limitations of our human bodies, my Tita chose to go. While we’re deeply affected and saddened, at least she is in a place where she could now freely dance like she used to.
It still hasn’t sunk in—my Tita not being here anymore, physically, with us.
I’m thankful that I decided to go home with my Mom last weekend. I said I wanted to be with her in case something happened. It’s hard to be there for people when you’re physically far from them. It’s so hard to be far from people you love.
Olaf, one of our cats who live outside our home in the province, on a rainy afternoon.
Since I didn’t think I’d be spending almost a full week with my Mom, the leaves of two of the plants I have in the city became dry.
Golden jasmine. When Mom brought her to me, she was all green and thriving. There’s still some green left. We’re hoping she’ll grow new leaves.
Other plants which delighted on ‘neglect’ or ‘little care’ like Pinky, the first bougainvillea under my care, grew her first flowers. I was so happy to see them.
A new stalk and leaf coming through in Cardi, my bird of paradise.
There are many things to learn from plants and how to take care of them. There’s also the lesson of seasons—how there’s dryness and death, and how there will be bearing and beauty again.
But now that I’m nearing three decades old, I’ve learned that no one can be 100% okay all the time nor we would ever get over a loved one’s death.
“Okay lang po kayo?” I asked my Mom when I noticed her quietness one afternoon. She said to me, “I’m not always okay.”
At that point, I realized a fault of mine. Because I try to ‘fix’ my feelings when I feel down, I may have done it too to my Mom during that time. I should have held space for her and honored her quietness and the way she expressed her grief.
We can’t expect people to be okay all the time. It’s impossible to be okay all the time. We feel a lot because of things happening around us and within us. If someone isn’t okay, do you kind of want that person to be okay as soon as possible, or do you let that person just feel the emotions first? Speaking of okay, what does it mean to be okay, anyway?
How are you?
Are you okay?
Maybe nobody’s totally okay.
Especially these days.
A lot of us are in grief.
Fear.
Hurt.
Loneliness.
Anger.
Disappointment.
But as we go through these things and perhaps meet someone who is clearly not okay, it is wise and kind to let that person just be (in the context of certain sad feelings, of course, and not in the aspect of health). Just let them sit with the emotion.
And if you can, do something that could at least alleviate their pain like maybe volunteering to do chores or to cook dinner—something that could urgently help lessen the burden they are feeling.
And if they want to cry, let them cry.
You can’t stop a breaking dam.
Sometimes, you just got to be sad and quiet.
No explanations needed. No distractions.
Just be.
When I was still new to reading more of the Bible, I favored the book of Ecclesiastes, particularly the third chapter, verses one to eight:
“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.”
A high school friend, Cha, in a heartfelt message shared that there is no timeline to grief, and I agree with her. We just learn how to carry it.
Time is not linear, healing isn’t linear. Time just is.
Currently, we’re grieving in the family, and making art, sharing my feelings, music, and a beloved book help me process the pain.
Two days before Tita passed, I drew this from my Papemelroti box of quotes/verses… The drawing reminds me of the Holy Spirit.
I’m rereading one of my favorite books, A Ring of Endless Light by Madeleine L’Engle, for the third time.
Death is one of the themes of this book. I’m rereading it at this time for consolation… I think about life and death a lot, actually. There’s a quote I like from way before—I do not know who said, but it goes like this: “Life is precious, because there is death.” So I try to express my love more to those around me… I say I love you to my parents every single day, never missing a beat. I try to check in on friends when I’m emotionally and mentally okay. I often wonder why we leave the most important things out to say to people in eulogies, when they wouldn’t be able to hear them anymore. Life is just too short for words left unsaid and for kind deeds left undone.
I’ve been listening to songs that have comforted me for a very long time like Gungor’s Late Have I Loved You and Beautiful Things, Switchfoot’s Restless, and Steffany Gretzinger’s The Olive Grove…
Grief is the thing that hangs heavily on our chests, the boulder that sits in our abdomen, the great abyss of an absence that the people we love who have passed leave behind. Over the past year until now, I’ve known people who have lost their loved ones, and I wish I learned to condole virtually in this age where to touch and to hug were not wise to do. I wish I knew how to be condoled too and to be kind still even while we’re hurting.
This sorrow is something one simply cannot put down but just heave and carry around.
But maybe there’s something that is adjoined to this grief—a late realization as of now.
There would be no great grief if there was no great love in the first place.
My Tita and Tito during a stopover going to Arizona for my cousin’s wedding in December 2019, the last time I was with her
When my cousins O and Jango were busy, I was always with my Tito and Tita when I visited for a vacation
I’m writing again.
I have been writing short stints on Instagram, but maybe what I mean with ‘writing again’ is that I’m writing something as personal as this again with no regard to fear or judgment.
This is me trying to remember how I spent days and nights consoling and being consoled, praying and being prayed for, giving and receiving, and sharing memories with our family about my Tita.
Her name is Milagros.
Miracles.
She prayed every single day. I recall her novenas and prayer booklets like the Pieta on their square glass table in the living room. I recall praying the Rosary with her and Tito when we went to Church or to Seafood City, and then when I would start to lead the third decade of the Rosary, she would laugh to herself, and that would lead me to laugh too.
Religious as she was in praying for us, on her last few days and hours on her pilgrimage here, the tables have turned, and we were the ones storming heaven’s doors and windows with prayers.
Although the miracle we were asking for—her miraculous healing—did not happen, Tita existing and living up to now is already a miracle in itself. To have been born and to love and be loved by many…
She has been a teacher and the most graceful of dancers like my Tita Tess too (I’m not quite used to writing about Tita Miles in the past tense), and she has been the eldest daughter, a loving sister, a devoted wife, a selfless mother, an adoring Tita, a strong woman, and a faithful child of God in this grand adventure of life.
I hate goodbyes. I hate how I cry so much when leaving airports or when family members leave our home after a visit before. I hate how the world can go on as if nothing happened, but for us, one of our lights had gone out, and walking onward has been difficult.
So for now, at least, let me believe that she’s still halfway across the globe, praying the 3 o’ clock prayer with Tito, cooking adobo for dinner, and posting happy photos and memories on Facebook.
June 5th is her birthday.
Happy Birthday in heaven, Tita Miles. We love you.
Tita Miles never forgot birthdays, no matter how many we were in the family.
She’s that kind of person.