what is grief, if not love persevering

what is grief, if not love persevering

I don't know how to construct my thoughts today. (As if it's not the same case everyday).

My great-grandmother died this week (26-July). She was supposed to be 96 years old yesterday, 30-July, an almost centenarian. And today, we laid her to rest. By 'we', I meant with us via video call. I was sad, and had to take a half day at work. Her dying, leaving us, is already a foreseen event. As it is with everything, death is inevitable. I cried, still. I was sad, for my family who were all abroad that cannot go home because of this pandemic. I was sad for her children who were not able to see her for the last time. 

When I was a kid, I remember being scared of her because she was the grumpy grandma who shouts at us, the noisy kids horsing around the compound. I remember wanting to pick mangoes from the backyard, but always had to ask for her permission because it's her property. But then, I also remember going to her after Sunday mass and asking for her blessing.

When she started deteriorating through the years, it has become a mini competition between us, the great grandchildren, who she can still remember. When I first came home from Singapore, it was December 2015, I went to her house to visit her and she asked me if I already have a boyfriend. She used the word "nobyo",  an uncommon tagalog word for boyfriend. I said no, and what she said next made me laugh. She thought I went home because I'm going to get married. She was 90 years old that time, still lucid and smart amongst all of us. The last few following years, she can no longer remember me. But still, every holidays, we will go to her house to take our yearly family photo. 

My cousin back home said they did not cry when she passed. My mom, my aunts, my Lola, they were all there for her. She has lived a long, and fruitful life. I'm amazed how she was able to raise her 10 children well. The outpouring visitors and flowers during her wake is a proof how she has lived her life well.

I guess, going back to the Philippines will never be the same again. The big house will now be empty. And my mom will no longer remind me to, "Nabisita mo na ga ang Nanay?", "Magpaalam ka muna sa Nanay bago ka umalis." 

Rest in Paradise Nanay. Paalam. 


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