A Tent Story

When one of our loved ones passed away, we go through different stages of grief. First there’s that heart wrenching, too painful kind of grief that you usually feel right after the funeral where in even the sight of his things and the mere thought of him makes you cry. Then after a few months or so, you go through that second stage of grief where in he just seems to be there, you feel his presence and you imagine hearing his voice but the thought of him doesn’t evoke buckets of tears anymore. After a year or two, wether you have realize it or not, you step up to that stage of grief called moving on where that person just become part of your memory and not your everyday life anymore. You think of him in a nostalgic kind of way and remember him more with fondness and not sadness anymore. At this point it is very easy to share his being to other people.

I would like to think that I am at that last stage of grieving. I would like to think that now, I can easily take my daddy in and out of that corner in my heart that holds all my fondest memories of him anytime I want to without feeling even that small twinge of pain. Although there are still times when I get all panicky when I would realize that days or weeks had passed without me visiting his grave and thinking about him. But then again, I would also realize that I haven’t really forgotten him at all, I have simply accepted that he is now gone.

My daddy passed away but I know he will forever remain in my life. Sometimes I ‘d like to think that he is just there smiling down on us. I see him in the most unlikely circumstances and situations. Like this morning when my husband and I woke up at 3 am because of the strong winds battering our house because of the typhoon. The first thing that we thought about was the tent that my husband put up in his grave for our visit today and tomorrow. I was depressed the whole time because I know with a tent like ours, there’s no way it could’ve survive the strongs winds brought by that typhoon. You see my dad was a perfectionist, he was during his lifetime too vain and too proud. He always wanted nothing but the best. I felt that we failed him because the typhoon would surely have wrecked the whole tent, candles and flowers. As soon as the strong wind stopped, my husband went to the cemetery all prepared to pick up the broken pieces of our tent. And guess what, in the midst of all the broken tents in the cemetery, there stood one solitary blue tent, strong and sturdy, and that was our tent. The candle holders were not broken and the flowers were still blooming safely in the basket. I don’t know how it happened, but I would like to think that my dad held on to that tent in his desire to have the best one because he sure wouldn’t want a wrecked one standing on his grave. He would rather “die” than be caught in an ugly one.hahaha. That is so like daddy. Of course it could’ve been because my husband and his friend made a good job mounting it up, but there’s really no way, no way at all for an ordinary tent to survive that kind of typhoon unless some strange thing happened. It still amazes me right at this moment just thinking about it, like the many times my daddy amazed me with the many different ways he showed his love when he was still alive. I miss him a lot and I am thankful that He still continue to make his presence known even in the most unlikely circumstances.:)

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