Moving on after Papa passed away is very difficult to say the least. I really, really miss my dad and there's nothing in the world I wouldn't give for just another day with him. To see him smile, have him spend time with his grandkids, laugh, and a ton of other things I'd like to do.
Whenever Henry and I would talk about Papa retiring from work, I was looking forward to having him as company whenever the kids had any programs in school where they'd dance or sing. He could watch my kids in school personally, instead of waiting for the pictures and videos I uploaded on Facebook.
Sometimes I wonder if moving to the province was actually a good idea, since I made the distance between his grandkids and him quite far. We would visit him and they'd visit us every now and then, and I wish I had made it more often rather than every now and then.
I wake up every morning and I cry, since I have to deal with another day knowing he's not going to pick up the phone when I call them, and that I won't be seeing him anymore. I cry at night before going to bed, praying with all my heart that tomorrow would be different, that I'd wake up to find out everything was just a nightmare and that everything is back to normal. But it's not, and I know it.
Every picture I took during the wake broke my heart; it was like every moment cemented itself, like a slap to my face that Papa's not going to be with us anymore. I know I'm not waking up from this nightmare, and that this isn't a nightmare, it's real. Part of me still is having a hard time accepting that.
My mom and my sister aren't doing too well either. But whenever I see them, I smile, crack jokes, and pretend that I'm OK when I'm not. I don't want them to worry about me too, especially since it's just the two of them at home.
During the wake and the actual funeral, I bottled up all my emotions until I got home, or until I got in my car. One more person crying isn't going to help, especially since we had a ton of things to take care of. I wanted to keep myself busy, since if I'm not doing anything, and whenever I find myself alone in the room, I just can't help but be overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness and grief.
A lot of people keep saying that Papa's passing was untimely, since it's Christmas just a few days away; I have to disagree. No passing is ever timely, and we'd mourn all the same whether it was Christmas or not. I keep playing a song in my head, "Christmas won't be the same without you," but it's not just Christmas. It's every waking morning and every night when I sleep that's changed.
One of the elder people commented that since Papa was buried at exactly 12 noon, they said that was very lucky. I disagreed again; there's no luck and there's nothing lucky about anything that's happened. In my opinion, it would have been lucky if Papa stood up and we all just went home and pretended nothing happened. I know that's not reality, but what the heck, so is luck.
I have a ton of pictures to look at, pictures not only from the wake, but pictures when I was still young and whenever Papa would visit us here, and spend time with my kids. It just breaks my heart that he's gone. I will most likely never stop crying. It's a very sad feeling, like a hole's been dug in your heart and that hole aches all the time.