December May Never Be The Same Again

I used to love December…


With Christmas and all…

My son was born in December.

December used to mean a lot to me.

Until that tragic day, 346 days ago when my world felt like it came crashing down and I’m a changed person.

The father of my son also passed away in December. December 12, 2017, to be exact.

Since then December felt bluer because it reminded me of how much my son lost. His beloved father was gone forever.

Now you know how I feel, Mommy…” I still remember how he whispered those words after the funeral of my own father. And boy, do I know now. I still struggle with the deep empty sadness inside my heart.

Christmas and New Year felt really empty last year and this year I just don’t have any Christmas spirit left in me. If anything, I dreaded them because it reminds me of the hollow part of our lives that used to belong to him.

I still couldn’t listen to his songs without bursting into tears.

I still had moments where missing him suffocates me and the only thing I could do is just cry silently on my pillow.

Grief never goes away…at least this is how I feel. If anything, the closest it gets to the day of his passing, it feels like my heart gets heavier. More troubled. I miss him so damn much.

I couldn’t really write much since he passed, not about how I truly feel deep down. It’s just too hard to unpack all these emotions I carried with me since the day he’s gone.

I’m sure my family is dealing with their own pain. Collectively we lost the man who’s been the backbone of this family for so many years. He is our hero…my hero. He’s my Papa. The one man who has truly loved me for who I really am since the day I was born. He’s my first love.

Deep in my broken heart, I still carry the guilts of not spending more time with him. The last time we met was at my son’s birthday on December 7, 2019. I didn’t even have pictures of him that day. Yet I remember how ‘strange’ it was for him to give me a big hug before they all left our place and said “I love you, Non.” while he hugged me. Something he doesn’t say very often, only on special occasions.

Little that I knew that would be the last time, I got to see him, to hug him.

I still accidentally say “Opa Oma” because that’s how I used to address him and my mother as a pair. Even a year after he’s gone.

And now with this stupid pandemic, I can’t even pay his grave a visit because they used the Cemetary to bury Covid-19 victims too. I haven’t been able to pay him a visit for months now and it’s not easy.

I can only ‘talk’ to him in silence, with tears running down my face.

I miss you so much Pa…

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