Approaching 3

I've been away from this space for a really long time. How long has it been? About half a year. More than that, I suppose, since I'm not counting the intermittent, short posts in between the months of the previous year.

To say a lot has happened, between the birth of Kai's little brother, Kian, and up to this day, would be an understatement. And just like my tragic journey that started back in 2010, there was a lot to take in and process, only this time I'm allowing myself to live again, to feel joy and hold onto it.

I died three years ago. There's no doubt in my mind about that. There was no joy, no hope, no reason to be alive. Nothing mattered. And yet, I was tethered to this physical world like a ghost who can't pass on because of some deep grudge. My existence was a combination of materialized grief, anger and guilt. It was really difficult to go on.

It was such a heavy burden to be the one left behind. It was even more painful to face the prospect of trying to live again. But go on, I did. It was a struggle to even start breathing. But I did. Not because it was what was expected, nor was it because it was what others around me wanted and hoped.

Instead I made the choice to accept the gift my firstborn son left me. The gift of his short life in my womb and the gift of his death. That through all that pain, sadness and confusion, there was beauty and there was love. These kept me rooted and bound at a time when all I wanted was to runaway.

I'm approaching three years this month. This grief has changed shape many times now. It appears and disappears on its own along with my recollection of Kai's last days and the what-could-have-beens. It is still so painful at times, especially during this week of June 16th. The missing, the longing and that deep soul hurt are amplified each day.

But I'm holding fiercely to life. I'm at peace with where I'm at. It is incomplete, it will always be incomplete. I was a woman who was dead three years ago and yet, here I am now only half dead, an incomplete who lives life as best she knows how.

Three years. A lot has happened. A lot to take in and process. I can look back at those years now and tell my firstborn son in prayer, "Nanay didn't runaway, anak. She didn't runaway."