The Good Grief

It is a funny thing, grief. Brought about by death, grief - ironically as I have come to realize - never dies. It merely sleeps, easily awakened by the motions and noises of life.

I thought I wouldn't be able to get through the weekend. It's Tito's first year anniversary, and the fact that it has been a year is surreal. Friday before his anniversary, while waiting for a friend at Gateway, I decided to stay in Figaro, his favorite shop in the mall, and have some peppermint tea. I kept imagining how he would have been in the shop. I could almost hear his voice, ordering some coffee, or talking to his friends. God I miss his voice.

~

I had asked my mom to wake me up early the next day, as I had a full day ahead. When I went down to have breakfast, she asked me if I lit incense in my room. "No," I said. She said when she entered my room, it smelled strongly of sandalwood, Tito's favorite incense. Maybe he was paying me a visit. I hope he was. I lit an incense and said a prayer; told him about my plans, that I miss him terribly, and that I hope he's proud of what I have been doing, even if it seems I have been flighty. I cried like a baby (and annoyingly enough, iTunes decided to shuffle into Corrine May's Safe in a Crazy World, I swear that application has emotional sensors). I prayed and wept.

~

I love my family to bits. I remember how Tito's passing brought a lot of us together and signaled turning points in our lives. At least it has, for me. Everyday I still miss him - at random moments of the day I feel my throat tightening with the familiar grief, probably roused from its sleep by some random memory, random scent, random sound. I am always walking on tiptoes so I don't awaken it unexpectedly. But it happens, it awakens, and it reminds me of how much I miss and love my Tito.

It's been a year, and I know the grief will not die. Oddly enough, I pray that it doesn't, that it wakes up as it does and grips at my heart, so that I do not forget the man who has inspired me and my family, so that I am reminded of how much he loved us, and how much we loved him.