It's Been Forty Days...

9 days of dedicated masses.

40 days of prayer.

1 year of mourning.

These are the milestones we count in my culture. The clock by which we measure our grief. 

These last 40 days have been a whirlwind of stress and emotion, but with a slight return to normalcy. We're staying strong and pushing forward - doing exactly what my Dad would have wanted and truly, being the only way we know how to be.

The days surrounding the viewings and funeral were chaotic, dark and heavy. The week or so following was precarious at best, as we tried to get back into a routine while tying up all the loose ends. It got lonely around that time. But still, we got through.

Now, it's the little things. 

I saw a trailer for a tennis movie and thought, 'Dad would like that! ...would have liked that."

My brother saw a good Friday Night Fights match up, and picked up the phone to call my dad... before realizing there is no phone to where he now resides.

My son sees pictures in our house or the bed at my mom's, and he points and says "Lolo!"

And even now, I'm watching the Opening Ceremonies of the Olympics without my Dad's signature combo of historic commentary and terrible puns.

It's tough. The days have gotten a little easier, and the tears don't come every day. But when they do, they are sudden and surprising. Still it makes no sense to me and perhaps it never will. Life is simply just life. And time does not belong to us.

In the Philippines, the grieving family typically wears black for the full year following a loved one's death. My mom, being partly Canadian as she is now, is electing to wear black for 6 months and to avoid bright colours for the remaining 6. She said my brother and I aren't expected to follow suit because we were born here. However, I have chosen to wear the dark colours for the 40 days because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Today is the last day of that particular vigil. 

But I will remember this time - the permanence, the blackness, the faith within the dark.

I will remember in ink around my wrist. 

Tomorrow.