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by Paeng Ferrer
Kinakaya niyang kargahin ang kahong
labis ang bigat, umpisa’y nasa ilalim
ang kanyang bisig. Kapag nasaid ang puwersa,
iniuusog ang kamay sa harap, ikinakawit
sa gilid, itinutulak ang timbang
sa dibdib. Iginagalaw ang hinlalaki
kapag napapagod ang daliri, para magbago
ang kalamnang nagdadala. Maya-maya
ay pasan-pasan sa balikat, hanggang
walang natitirang dugo sa bisig,
namamanhid sa pagbabalanse ng sisidlan. Pero
maaaring binubuhat muli mula sa ilalim, upang
posibleng hindi na niya ito ilapag kailanman.
-Jack Gilbert, “Patay na si Michiko”
salin ni Paeng Ferrer
“Kuya!,” my sister screams in terror the time my father dies. It is dawn. After a year, I lose my passion. My general philosophy becomes to float with no direction. I abandon my life goals. I do not know if it is because of my father’s death. Maybe it is merely a common phase conveyed by my current life stage. Nevertheless, I am somehow indifferent to everything around me.
A companion teaches me about the phases of grieving: denial, anger, guilt, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. These help me during my early stages. I am alone in my room. I feel I am traversing the border between sanity and insanity. However, when my mood piles up, I tell myself, what I’m feeling is anger, denial, guilt, etc. I am able to see myself from a distance. Sometimes, if I try forcefully, I let go of heavy burdens temporarily. This is very similar to relaxation techniques in therapy like breathing exercises, meditation, and concentration. Perhaps, it prevents neuroticism.
On the other hand, I realize that one never moves on. I am shocked that an event can inflict great agony. This is the most painful experience I endured. It is akin to a person experiencing a traumatic episode. One never forgets. I attempt to understand and rationalize it. Maybe he’s happier in heaven. Perhaps he has accomplished his purpose. Maybe it is a means for my family to bond closer. However, I am slowly beginning to sense that it is like a prayer that may never be answered. If I long for my father to subsist again, I know that craving will never consummate. I consider blaming God. I sometimes do.
I read in the “Boundaries” series by Cloud and Townsend that pain is different from injury. The former is temporary hurt. It helps people grow and mature. The latter is permanent impairment. From this dichotomy, death of a loved one is stipulated as pain. However, I deem that it is enduring damage. In no way does the departed come back. We move around it, the injury. I am like a three-legged dog. I function while carrying great weight.
My Cognitive Psychology class discusses closure. It is a term from the Gestalt School. It posits that people’s minds long to conceive complex elements into simple entities. Thus, healing is imagined. Truthfully, I admit that I long for closure. However, for the moment, I carry the box. #
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