In Memory of a Dear Friend

My mind is still trying to grapple with the disturbing news from the message that I received this morning: a dear friend "suddenly passed away last Saturday night, the 11th of June."

I scanned the dates on the exchange of messages we made. On the 6th of June, a greeting sent to my mobile asking me how my weekend was going, to which I replied that I'll catch up when I go online next time. On the 31st of May, a message on FB where he remarked how great the summer weather was at 22 degrees C. On the 27th of May, an archived chat convo on YM, of how he was just working on a DIY project with his brother-in-law.

Detailed in the messages still saved on FB, Gmail, YM chat, we talked about a myriad number of things, both the mundane and tragic parts of the separate lives we lived since we last saw each other more than 20 years ago when we were in high school.

From across the globe, he found me on FB first, tentatively commenting on some of my posts, where he learned about the difficulty of my marriage falling apart. I learned soon after that he had gone through something similar. Consequently, our respective misfortunes became the common ground on which we gradually re-established a friendship. The things we shared with each other were lessons learned from hurts, wisdom gained in our personal challenges as parents, and insights on the importance of having unwavering faith in God.

In the eight months that we were able to catch up on each other, he was hoping that things would take on a rosier turn and we'd eventually become more than friends. That is, to pick up where we left, where once upon a time in our teenage lives, we were each other's 'first love'.

"Who knows?" was his often-asked question. I could count a number of practical reasons why I wasn't keen on taking that direction. One of them was my need for a person to trust, who, knowing my history, could act as a ballast in the midst of my still unsettled storms in life. Even at this time of writing, I was not entertaining the idea of a second marriage.

He had a plan underway for me to visit his country at the end of the year. Admittedly, an "iffy" arrangement, but one that would, more than likely, make that often-asked question easier to answer.

In a carefully composed email, I gave him my honest opinion on the matter, though I can never tell how disappointed he might have been as a result. Weeks passed before he replied, and upon doing so he explained that there was a family crisis that prevented him from responding back.

My honesty might have slighted his feelings, but at least I was happy to be communicating with him once again. There was no more asking of "Who knows?"; probably it had to be temporarily set aside in light of other matters. I felt relieved that we regained the familiar, straightforward --- yet considerate --- and sometimes humorous tone our still-distant and voiceless communication carried.

Today, all of that changed.

The shock suspended any real emotional reaction. The only time I felt the sting of tears was when I started to use the past tense when I referred to my friend in an email message. The awareness that he would no longer be online leaves this hollow feeling deep inside.

We may have closed the gaps in time and in our memories, but now, eternity just took the place of the thousands of miles covering the physical distance separating you and me, my dear friend.

Sadly, I realize that nothing can be unsaid, undone, uncovered, once one reaches the end. There are things in life that will remain unknown, only that death makes that reality more certain.

Thoughts That Once Went Through My Mind At The End of the Day

Anger. Anguish. Self-doubt. A bit of Hope...Then the cycle repeats itself.

I must be in some sort of time warp. When I think back to when this madness started, it felt like it was just days ago. Feeling the grip of both shock and disbelief, the searing pain of my heart ripping, the burden of shame and self-loathing, then the temporary relief of apathy.

Twelve years ago, I went through the loss of our first child. Though I may have come to terms with it, the pain could still be felt.

In dreams, I look for that angel's face. I'd call out his name while in tears.

About twelve weeks ago, I went through the loss of a husband.

The husband I once knew was lost to this angry, vindictive, foul-mouthed, adulterer who abandoned the family that he once belonged to. Though the loss was not physical, it might as well have been, for I bear the brunt of his hatred. He has wished even for my own death. And in understanding where that hatred stems from, I realize that it is from an inability to believe that I could still love him despite what we've gone through. And at its core, the immobilizing poverty of a damaged self-esteem.

The enemy I now face bears the visage and the name of the person who went missing from my life, this person who I fear will not be coming back.

And just like with my baby, whom God gave wings to, I look for his face in my dreams, call out his name while in tears. And my heart keeps searching, waiting, and praying.

Searching for reasons to restore our failed marriage.

Waiting for a message from him, wishing to give it another try.

And praying that he would begin to heal from within.

We once made a vow and shared some hopes that we could build our dreams upon, and throughout the years we managed to weather life's numerous demands and challenges.We were blessed with a daughter that constantly brought us joy. But even this other angel was not reason enough for him to keep fighting.

There are many memories that I dwell on to remind myself that those twelve years were not lived in vain. Every happy moment, smile, laughter, embrace, from the successes we shared, all stand in the way of my ability to erase him forever.

I was once told that, as the wife, I would not need to worry, because at the end of the day, he would need to find me when he tries to find his way home. Though hollow as this thought may seem, it's the one thing that stands out from the rest of otherwise obsessive thoughts.

Anger. Anguish. Self-doubt. Once in a while, a bit of Hope...Then the cycle repeats itself.

Regarding Yet Another Fading Memory

I cannot exactly recall the real reasons anymore. I tossed and turned that night, mulling over whether the details of yet another argument. When morning came, a faint sense of understanding settled. I recognized, once and for all, that my husband and I have given up on each other.

As I exchange angry words with my estranged husband, my mind searches for the fellow that I fell in love with a long time ago. The face of this man before me resembled that of the figure in many of our treasured family pictures --- either smiling or wearing a goofy expression, with arms around my daughter and me.

Regret now comes whenever I think about every hurtful expression that both of us could have taken back, about how one more day of patience and longsuffering could have prevented our relationship from failing.

My mind is on aimless overdrive, focusing on nothing but a dull black. I do not know which words to utter when praying. I do not know whether there is any more cause for believing. I cannot lash out at God, for I know there are others who suffer worse. I just know that there’s more suffering to come. Pain lingers like a worsening migraine or heartburn, sometimes overpowering the desire to eat or sleep.

Hard to think of long-term solutions as it is, I am able to manage on a few mundane decisions at the very least, such as rearranging the furniture at home or deciding on a new hairstyle that I could try. In time, I would know exactly just how I could rearrange my life or decide on letting the court mandate on the legalities of our separation.

These days, as sadness hovers over me like a heavy cloud, I am straining to see whatever light remains along its edges. Hope illuminates in the support and understanding of friends and loved ones. The moments spent with them over coffee gives me that sense of unburdening, only to be replaced by this awareness that I had revealed the details of my problems far too much for my comfort.

I am surrounded by a houseful of reminders of a shared life: wedding gifts, framed photos, favorite home movies, and so on. On the other hand, the sights and sounds outside of home set off flashes of memories: our family wandering at the malls, dining, trips out of town, activities in school, etc., etc. If there is no way for a neurosurgeon to find a “Delete” button or press “Restart”, then I would gladly accept a prescription pill to suppress all those ill memories.

Two months ago marked our 12 years of marriage. I had some scant hope that after all the anger has worn down, we’d slowly find a way to reconcile and rebuild our family.

And then that moment changed when I heard him on the phone mutter “I love you, honey.”

It wasn’t me that he was talking to.

.