When you died, it was not like in the movies. It did not feel like how books would describe it. I did not play my part as perfectly as I should. I did not mourn you.
On the first day of your wake, I wore an orange dress and went to the beach with friends. That was, I think, the most effective way to earn the ire of old relatives. I actually didn't care. But I went through the motions and acted out all the things normal people do, anyway. I knew they all meant well.
When you died, a part of me was even pleased in a distorted kind of way. I milked everybody’s sympathy the best way I could. These are perks that you don’t get to use often, and I made sure I maximized the benefits I got from it. When I failed to show up for my Business Law exams, I used your death as an excuse. When I stuttered through my thesis defense, the panel cannot help but throw me sympathetic glances (my thesis defense happened the morning before your funeral). When I was unsure about my performance in my departmental final exams, I shrugged it off as a side effect of mourning.
When you died, no matter how I tried, I could not feel guilty for the part of me that felt relieved. It was like a very heavy burden has been taken off my chest. I was thankful that I won’t have to see you go through another chemo. That I would not have to spend another day in the hospital. That we won't have to worry about where to get the money for your treatment. It was not easy seeing you sick like that. Six years of cancer is not easy to deal with.
Contrary to what others feared, my life did not break to pieces. In fact, I held up pretty well. Things went on normally after your funeral.
You died in March. The first time I realized that something was wrong with me was in December. For the first time in my life, I was not excited about Christmas. I was not happy.
And then it hit me. I stopped being happy when you died. That part of me died with you.
But it wasn't as horrible as it seemed. At times, it was even pretty convenient not to feel anything. Days became monotonous. A series of unhappy Christmases came one after another. To say that I endured these days isn't exactly accurate. I did not care. I was okay. I made stupid life choices and chose to love the wrong people. But that was exactly the point. I wanted the fleeting satisfaction of making good of an otherwise hopeless situation. This gave me a temporary kind of high. It was all good until it lasted.
Two years ago, I gave birth a few days short of Christmas. It was the happiest I have been in a very very long time. Yes, motherhood changed everything. Each time I look at my son, I feel overwhelmed with love and happiness. For the first time in years, I started looking forward to Christmas and my son’s birthday.
But I would be lying if I say that I am complete now. I am better now, but what’s dead is dead and I am still in the process of growing a new heart. I still feel hollow. And I still miss you every day.
