Posted on December 04, 2009 by Elizabeth Delos Reyes

I’ve been trying to write a good poem but the words won’t come out. It’s like grief lodges this huge obstruction into the opening in which my creativity escapes through. Long before, I used to write poems easily especially for my dad, or out of hatred and frustration, but now, it’s been too difficult. I don’t know why. Something must be wrong with me. But I’d really, really like to create a poem for my dad’s 5th death anniversary last August 18. It’s the least that I could do for him. Even though he’s not here anymore, I still would like to express how much I’ve loved him and treasured him. I failed to let him know that he was the most important and the greatest gift in my life when he was still living. Perhaps, I’ve already lost that gift – the talent to write, along with losing the best father in the world.

It’s been exactly 5 years and 5 days since my father and the twins died of a tragic accident. I lost them just like that, and there’s nothing I could do about it. If only I could turn back the time, I would’ve stopped them from coming to that place, and would’ve rather asked them to spend their time with us. We could have been happier now, at nandidito pa rin siguro sila. But I’ve truly moved on – totally recovered from the loss of my most loved ones. However, whenever the memories of my dad come crashing through my head, I still couldn’t help it but cry. I regret all the things that I’ve done that had hurt him or could’ve hurt him, and how I wish I had been a good daughter to him. Things like these happen that it never ever occurred to your mind that one day, your most loved one would be taken to heaven at an instant. And there’s nothing anymore you could do to prevent it from happening.

Since I could talk about these things, I think I’ve already passed the five stages of Elizabeth Kubler Ross’s concept of loss/dying: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I’ve totally accepted the fact that they’re gone already, that God took my father and the twins away from us. At first, I was in total denial that maybe it wasn’t him in the coffin after all, that he’s just out there wandering, trying to regain health, and then saving all his energy and the courage to show up at the doorstep, then one day, he would just appear. Somehow, I’d like to think that way. I did not want to think that Papa was gone – truly gone – not just gone to a farthest place, but gone for good. But on the other hand, when I try to think of all the hardships he had come across here on earth, I just figured out that he was better off in heaven, at least I know he did not go hell, and that’s for sure. He was a good person, and God’s servant, so there’s no doubt he’s going to the Paradise.

Next to denial, I had become angry, more cursing and always putting blames to other people, and even to God. I used to ask God why of all places it was the hotel where my father and sisters were staying that was burnt, not some casinos or drug dens. Why? And why did God allow such things to happen? Why did God take away my sisters and most especially my dad? Why did it have to happen in our family? And why him of all people, why not my mom? I was really angry… and bitter… I guess it was only natural for me to think that way. I lost someone very dear to me, so close to my heart, and that time, I could not get over it yet.

The bargaining stage, I guess, is when I used to bargain with God. I asked him if He could just turn back the time, that if I wake up, and realize that He did answer my prayer, then I could be a good girl from then on. Or if He couldn’t do that, then just let my dad visit me in my dreams. I’d do anything if He grants my prayers… it’s like I’m compromising with God, which I realize was not fair… I mean, it’s not fair to blame everything to God because He allowed such things to happen, or compromise with Him, just because I knew He was too powerful and He could do all things beyond my imagination and I was just a mere human being. But like I said, the person I’ve lost was my father, and I was definitely angry – angry at God, angry at other people, especially my mom, who did nothing but make my dad’s life miserable. No one can ever condemn me for having these intense feelings of hatred and hopelessness. No one but God… At one point in my life, I used to always say “If only I could turn back time, things could’ve been different… I would really make things different for my father.”

Then, I went through the period of depression. There were times when all I wanted was complete isolation from people, and if ever it was possible, I would really like to be left alone. All I did was cry rivers of tears day after day for like six months, still couldn’t believe myself that it all really happened in a flash, like a lightning. And I thought God did not even allow me to see my father during his last breaths, so I could hug him so tight and tell him to fight for his life, and that I loved him so much. I wanted to see him come back to life. The moments of extreme melancholy just made me think about the night when I went to the morgue to confirm that the people lying there in “body bags” were my sisters, their mom and most of all, my dad. I couldn’t believe what my eyes were seeing. It was them, I couldn’t deny that. But at the back of my mind, maybe these were other people, not my family. I wanted to hug him when I saw him there, if not with all the other cadavers lying next to him.

These dull pictures of him, of his death, kept haunting my head everyday and every night during that period when I was totally depressed, yeah, for six months or so. Even up to now, whenever I think of him, I would just let myself cry. However, at this point, I can say that I’ve certainly moved on, and I’ve already recovered from the bereavement for the death of my most loved ones. I have accepted the fact that they’re gone. Life is indeed short. Only God holds the power to take back the life which He has bestowed in us for a little while. Up till now, I still have a lot of questions in my head… still asking God what was His real purpose of taking my father’s life. Well, maybe, I don’t have the right to question Him. As stated in the Book of Job (not sure the exact verse…), “Who are we to question God’s wisdom?”