A view from my father’s forever resting place.
The past two weeks have been hectic, to say the least.
On 15 February, I started working at my new job. It was actually quite interesting and very refreshing, but I didn’t really have any time to write because I was adjusting to a completely new routine and possible lifestyle. I think I mentioned too, that I was looking to renovate my house.
By Wednesday afternoon, everything fell apart.
My father passed away.*
I rushed home as soon as mom called me that first time, but by the time I hit the final LRT station, I received news that my father was no more. Thank the Goddess for things to do; I had to focus on getting to my car, then driving it, and then finding my mother. After a moment’s grief, I did exactly that.
I burst into tears when I saw my mother because her grief was so overwhelming, so strong. I remember hugging her and crying with her, not because I had lost a father but because my mother had lost a husband.
Even as I am writing this now, I think I went through the five stages of grief relatively quickly. I know I was furious that afternoon, but it was one that I didn’t linger too much on. There was bargaining, denial, and sometimes depression, but I remember denial was the reaction I dealt with the most, simply because my throat would choke each time I had to call someone to tell them my father was gone.
I don’t know if I’ve hit the acceptance stage or not. It seems surreal. Thanks to work, dealing with people for the seven day prayers and just a BURST OF ACTIVITY, I haven’t really had time to feel anything more than simply exhaustion.
Physical exhaustion from walking 20 minutes a day to the LRT station and back to the office (this is just me whining about the choice I made to do so; there are other, less strenuous ways to get to work but this was what I chose). Mental emotion because work is stretching me in pretty much the right ways. And emotional exhaustion.
Mainly because I realise I’m more an extrovert than I really am an introvert. I do well in groups of people, and far less in individual doses, unless they are people I’m familiar with.
This hit really hard during the second day when word got out about the wake, and people started coming in either alone or in twos. I dealt with a well-meaning aunt and a good friend one after another, and then another after that. Retelling the story exhausted me, I realised. Especially when I hadn’t adequately prepared myself.
So we cremated dad. Then we put him with my grandparents.
Due to the circumstances, I’m now putting my new apartment up for rent. I’m going to stay with mom till I’m certain she’ll be ok. If you need a place to stay, you can find the details here.
So yeah. How was your week?
- It took me 3 tries to get that sentence out. As you can tell, it’s not one of my happier sentences to write. xD