death (1)

I read somewhere that the sad thing about the death of a loved one is that it absolves the dead from all the guilt. The living is left grieving for all the things left undone.

Daddy died on February 27, after he had a double stroke. He was 64. From then, until now, there doesn't seem to be any correct way to say goodbye.
I cannot seem to function well. I am distracted, and everything I touch seem to remind me of all the things I failed to do for Daddy. I listen to my iPod and I think of all the music CDs I was supposed to bring him. I arrange my Readers Digests and I think it is good that I finally got to show him the November 2008 issue where I wrote a story about Nanay. He was so proud. I wish there had been more moments like that, while he was still alive.

I wish I had cooked more meals, visited more often, tried harder to understand the man he had become. But it is always like that, isn't it? We always think there is enough time, so we keep putting off the things we could do, the little things that in the end would mean so much. Memento mori. So true.

So we all punish ourselves with guilt, and call it grief. I will probably mourn for him in my own way, in my own time, but for now all there is is this heaviness.