Grief is the price we pay for love

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I’ve heard it said, “Grief is the price we pay for love.” People say Queen Elizabeth II said it. Maybe. I don’t know. What I do know is the words are true.

When I first heard it, I thought, that sounds harsh. Like love is some cruel deal, happiness traded for pain. But it’s not that. It’s just the truth no one wants to face.

Because when we love, we don’t think about the end. We laugh, we sit at the table together, we hold our kids close. We don’t stop and say, one day this will be gone. We can’t. We just live. And then, when loss comes, that’s when we realize. This is the cost.

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A Journey of the Heart: Walking the Camino Portugués

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The idea of a Camino journey had been with us for years, quietly tucked away in our hearts, waiting for the right time. When that time finally came, the journey unfolded in ways we couldn’t have imagined.

May 21: Vigo to Redondela (15 kms)

From May 21 to 27, we walked the 100 kilometers of the Camino Portugués—but more than that, we walked through memories, through grief, through hope, and love. This journey was for our son Luijoe, who left us 25 years ago. It was also our way of sending quiet prayers for our two daughters and the people they hold close. Reaching the cathedral on the exact day we lost him didn’t feel like chance. It felt like grace.A circle, gently closed. Read More →

Beyond loss: Finding Easter hope in my child’s belief

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It feels like just yesterday, though many years have passed, that I first shared this deeply personal story. But with the arrival of another Easter Sunday, a day so profoundly special, the memory surfaces with a familiar poignancy.

“If I die, Mama, will I be alive again?” Luijoe asked. My six-year-old boy lay nestled amongst a small mountain of prayer books he’d arranged on his little tummy, idly flipping through the pages.

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Tears I Can’t Express: A Mother’s Heart After 25 Years

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“Tears are the words the heart cannot express.” How poignant these words have become almost 25 years later. Losing a child is like having a piece of your soul ripped away. It’s a pain so profound it defies words, a constant ache that settles deep in your bones. It’s a hollowness that echoes, a silence where laughter and chatter used to be. It’s a future that vanished in an instant, replaced by a grief that reshapes everything. It’s a love with nowhere to go, a connection that’s been severed but not broken. It’s a wound that may heal slightly over time, but never truly closes. It’s the most indescribable feeling imaginable, a weight no one should ever bear.

The pain lives within me, intertwinded into my soul. My son, Luijoe, passed away way too soon. Even though the sharp pain has changed over time, I still feel his absence deeply, like a constant emptiness. Some days, the grief hits me like a wave, reminding me of the future that was snatched from me, the milestones that will never come.

People say time heals all wounds, but I disagree. Time helps us learn to live with the wound. It teaches us to navigate the world with this gaping hole in our hearts. For me, that navigation involves cherishing the sacred bond I still share with Luijoe. It’s a lifeline, vital to my well-being.

I dream of him. I imagine him as he would be today, a young man of 31. I picture him as handsome, lively, and full of energy. I catch myself glancing at other young men, the children of friends, those who are the same age Luijoe would be now. Dine’s daughter, Jane’s son… I see them, so grown up, and a bittersweet smile touches my lips. Because in those fleeting moments, I see a glimpse of what my Luijoe might have been.

I wonder about the young man he would have become. Would he still sing? I remember him at six years old, captivated by music. He loved watching his older sisters during choir practice, his eyes wide with wonder. Pop music was his passion. He’d ask me to download mp3s of his favorite songs on Napster – remember Napster? – and then he’d sing and dance along, completely lost in the joy of the music. Those memories… they’re treasures I hold close, fragments of a life that burned too brightly, too briefly.

I wonder if he’d be here on the coffee farm with me. Would we walk the fields together? I dream of those times when I’m here. Maybe we’d pick coffee cherries side-by-side, and he’d help me get them ready afterwards.

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The world tells you to move on, to heal, to forget. But a mother never forgets. A mother’s bond endures. It’s a love that continues even with incomprehensible loss. And even if the tears continue to flow, sometimes quietly, sometimes in a torrent, they are proof of that unfading love. They are the words my heart cannot put into words, a language spoken only by those who have walked this path. I know, in my heart, that someday I will be reunited with my son. And I will keep holding on to his memory with me, a flame that might waver but never go out. It’s a love story that endures, even on the other side of the veil.

When a candle’s glow feels Like a warm hug

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Life has a way of catching us off guard, especially when we lose someone we love. Grief doesn’t come with instructions, and words often fall short of what’s stirring inside. In those moments, we search for small comforts, ways to hold onto memories even as we learn to live without them.

Have you noticed how we light candles to remember someone? Across the world, it’s a quiet way of saying, “I remember. I miss you.” That tiny flame, swaying gently in the dark, becomes more than light—it becomes hope.

Letting Go, But Holding On

That flickering flame can feel like the essence of a loved one—a bright moment in the shadows. It symbolizes the love and laughter you shared, the moments that grief can never take away. Lighting a candle is a simple act, but it’s deeply meaningful. It allows you to say goodbye to their physical presence while keeping their memory close, burning within you.

More Than Just Wax and Wick

Candles have long held spiritual meaning, offering a way to honor and guide souls. In lighting one, you create a personal moment, a connection to the people you carry in your heart. The soft glow becomes a small space of peace, a reminder that they are never far from your thoughts, even if they’re no longer by your side.

Finding Comfort in the Glow

When words fall short, the quiet glow of a candle can fill the space. It invites reflection, providing a moment to remember the joy they brought into your life. In that gentle light, there’s comfort—a reminder that even in the darkest times, hope still flickers.

For Luijoe, Mom, Dad, Ruben, and Oscar

Today, I light a candle for Luijoe, my parents, and my brothers, Ruben and Oscar. Their love and the memories we made continue to shine within me. Though they are no longer here in person, their spirits remain, guiding me forward with warmth and comfort.

Where Love Lives Forever

There’s a special place inside each of us where love never fades. It’s where we keep the laughter, the smiles, and the lessons our loved ones left behind. These memories don’t disappear—they shape us, offering light even in our heaviest moments.

A Flame of Hope, a Heart Full of Love

If you’re walking the road of grief, know that something as simple as lighting a candle can bring a sense of peace. That flame is a reminder that love outlasts loss. Our loved ones stay with us, their presence etched into our hearts, lighting the way forward—always.

Understanding and Coping with Ambiguous Grief

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As the clock ticks towards midnight this New Year’s Eve, a time when reflections and resolutions take center stage, my thoughts are swirling in a bittersweet dance. Yes, the year blessed me with cherished moments – the laughter of my daughters filling the air, the thrill of exploring new places four times over. Yet, amidst this mosaic of memories, there’s a shadow, a subtle, unspoken ache that lingers – ambiguous grief. It’s a feeling hard to articulate, like a whisper in the wind, there but not quite tangible. I won’t dive into the specifics, but let’s unravel this enigma together. Perhaps, you too have felt its elusive touch as one year folds into another.

Ambiguous grief is a journey through a landscape shrouded in fog, where the usual signposts of loss and recovery are obscured. Unlike the clear-cut sorrow of losing a loved one to death, ambiguous grief is the heartache of loss without closure. Imagine grappling with a loved one’s disappearance, living with someone lost in the depths of dementia, or the aching void left by a relationship that abruptly ends without explanation. It’s a psychological tightrope, balancing between presence and absence, where the loved one is neither fully here nor completely gone.

This type of grief plays tricks on the heart and mind. It manifests in a whirlwind of emotions – anger, confusion, depression, and a relentless yearning for answers. The unique pain of ambiguous grief lies in its lack of societal recognition; there are no rituals for the ‘not quite gone,’ no condolences for the ‘half lost.’ It’s a silent struggle, often borne alone.

But, in this murkiness, there is also a profound lesson in resilience. Coping with ambiguous grief requires a redefinition of hope and acceptance. It’s about finding support in unexpected places, be it through counseling, support groups, or shared stories. It’s about adjusting the lens through which we view loss and reassembling the pieces of a shattered reality into something new and meaningful.

Ambiguous grief, in all its complexity, speaks to a truth we often forget: that life, love, and loss are rarely black and white. It challenges us to navigate shades of gray, to find peace amidst the unresolved, and to embrace the strength that comes from weathering the unknown. In a world that craves certainty, ambiguous grief teaches us the power of living with uncertainty and the grace of letting go, even when we can’t quite say goodbye.

Before I bid farewell to 2023, I’m setting the stage for a transformative journey. Beginning tomorrow, I embark on a 21-Day Journaling Inner Adventure. It’s more than a resolution; it’s a commitment to self-exploration and growth. Join me on this journey to unlock new perspectives and embrace the power of reflection. Let’s turn the page together!

 

 

After a loss, life moves on…to a new normal

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A mother who lost a child often cries out over insensitive remarks. I have heard it countless of times. Consider this conversation from a mother who thought a well-meaning friend was insensitive.

Don’t they know? Of course these wonderful, concerned, well-meaning friends don’t know. They can only guess how I feel. They haven’t personally known (thank God) the disbelief, the shock, the anger, the depression that has filled my heart and soul since my child died. They don’t know that the words I need to hear are, ““I know you must be hurting terribly. You had such a good life together, the pain must be awful. You need to express your anger, your frustration. I know it must be hard for you to believe that God is a loving God who will support you through this horrible tragedy.” They can’t know words aren’t necessary, that just being there, holding my hand, crying with me, or listening to me would be much more comforting than words they feel they must say.

I don’t think they are insensitive. They just don’t know how to comfort or are uncomfortable in facing a person who lost a loved one.

Even one can experience grief in the loss of a presidential candidate in an election.

One often suffers temporary emotional pain in response to loss of anything that is very important to us. Here, losing a dream where we looked up to potential leaders of our country who hold our future and the future  of our children. The pain is a normal internal feeling one experiences in reaction to a loss—the defeat of a candidate in the elections. The winning of certain candidates even made the pain worse in the senatorial slate, which is mostly political dynasties or familiar names.

The defeat of your candidate hurts. This is a loss of a dream you nurtured in your mind for the love of country. It is okay to cry. There is a normal reaction to loss. It is not a sign of weakness. I needed to tell myself that: feel, acknowledge, and express my emotions with an attitude of acceptance and compassion. The time will come when you can handle it with a sense of loving acceptance.How do you fare when you come across a bereaved? What do you say? You don’t say “Life should go on”. The grief journey is a process and when a loss or death is just so recent, mourning and moving on is not possible.

Do not ask them to deny their tears. Allow them to wash their inner wounds and speed the healing of their heart. In time, life goes on.

Grief is cyclical, much the same way the seasons change. Saying “life should go on” when grief is so fresh is like diminishing the grief of these victims.

Not everyone will follow the same journey. Some move on to their new life (without their loved one) ahead than others. The bereaved, in their own individual ways, gradually get better at bearing their loss. Mainly, the pain simply softens with the passage of time.

Moving on means that we live a new normal, never forgetting the love and memories of our beloved. Moving on says nothing about forgetting our loved one, not missing them or not wishing they were still with us, many years after the death. It says we will think and feel differently about having lost him or her.

Here are other words that are not comforting to those who have lost a loved one:

“It’s a good way to die.”
Don’t they know there is no good way for a child to die? Can’t they understand there’s nothing good about his being snatched away from our life?

“Remember, everything is God’s will.”
Don’t they know I can’t understand how God could cause me such despair? Don’t they understand that I can’t accept this as God’s will?

“All things work together for good for those who love God.”
Don’t they know I’m not sure I can love a God who robbed me of my child? Can’t they understand I’m very angry at God, who treated me so unfairly?

“Your child is better off. He’s gone to Heaven, where he will have eternal peace.”
Don’t they know I can’t be relieved to know Hess in Heaven when I ache so to have him back? Can’t they understand that his death is an injustice, not a godsend?

“Count your blessings.”
Don’t they know that in this state of mind I can’t in my wildest dreams consider all this pain, this anger, this emptiness, this frustration a blessing?

“If you look around you, you’ll find someone worse off than you are.”
Don’t they know right now I can’t imagine anyone worse off than I am?

“Think of all your precious memories.”
Don’t they know how much it hurts to live with nothing more than memories? Can’t they understand that because our love was so great, the pain is more intense?

“Keep your chin up.”
Don’t they know how hard it is to do that when I really want to cry, to wail, and to scream at the injustice that has been dealt me?

“You must put it all behind you and get on with your life.”
Don’t they know we don’t hurt by choice when our children die? I haven’t met a bereaved parent yet who wasn’t really weary of hurting.

“Time will heal.”
Don’t they know how time is dragging for me now, that every minute seems like an hour and every hour like a day? Can’t they understand how frightening it is to face the rest of my life without my child?

“If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
Don’t they know they shouldn’t wait for me to ““let them know?” Can’t they understand that my mind is so numb I can’t even think of what needs to be done?

Suicide and Mental Illness Myths in the Philippines

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Suicide-brainart2.jpg

I started this blog so I could spread the word that the Philippines has The Compassionate Friends , a grief support group for families that have lost a child or a sibling. Aside from its primary mission to assist families toward the positive resolution of grief following the death of a child of any age, it also provides information to help others be supportive. The second mission proved useful to a blogger whose friend’s sibling died of sucide. (NOTE:In my entry, Suicide:How do you say it?, ““Died of suicide” or ““died by suicide” are accurate, emotionally neutral ways to explain the death.)

What a compassionate friend she is! She took time to send me an e-mail asking my advice on how to deal with her close friend’s loss. I just told her this:

The best thing to do is just listen to her without any judgement at all. In short, just be a friend, Be there, If she wants to talk, let her talk. Listen. If you feel like crying, just cry with her. Hold her hand. Hug her. There are no words that can comfort really. Mention the loved one’s name and anecdotes if you have memories…we love to listen to stories of our loved one.

I also offered her some tips when dealing with bereaved family member or friend. True enough, just talking helped her friend and even the friend’s mother. Suicide is the most difficult topic to talk about. I know of a few suicide survivors (bereaved family members) who refuse to even say the “S” word. A trusted friend is what the suicide survivor needs in their early grief, one who is non-judgmental and compassionate. Talking helps relieve the pain.

The suicide survivor usually feels isolated and guilty for not having prevented the death one way or another. Guilt combined with incomprehension is what I think makes suicide different from any other death. It’s very hard to make any sense of it. All the Whys? and What ifs? that you can think of remain with them for such a long time. But the question remains, what causes death by suicide? Could it have been prevented?

suicide-prevention

I don’t have statistics or studies to prove that it can be prevented because there are many factors that might have caused the death (see above image). Let me just tackle one myth which is suicide ideation as a result of mental illness. These are my observations from informal discussion on the topic of mental illness and suicide.

1. There is a stigma on people who have mental illness. Heck , even some Human Resources officers frown upon job applicants and employees taking some sort of anti-depressants or mood disorder drugs. Often, these people are labelled “mentally unstable”. The fact that they are taking medicines show they are helping themselves and are less likely to be “unstable”. What is scary are the undiagnosed mentally ill persons like Charles Roberts,that milkman who killed Amish girls in a school house.

2. Oftentimes, the death was a result of a chemical imbalance that controlled the person; it was not a rational choice. Often a victim of bipolar disorder, also called manic depression, this type of depression results to drastic mood swings. They often get confused and very afraid for years before they finally give in and end their life. With the right medication and enough holisitic therapy, the mental depression can be minimized. Sometimes the medication may not even work for the patient and it’s a matter of regular visits to the psychiatrist to determine the right dose and type of medication.

3. Despair is a sin, the old folks say. Feeling gloomy, and desperate can be easily cured if one has strong spiritual faith. I don’t think so. It might help but remember, a chemically imbalanced brain isn’t wired well. “You will get over it . Don’t lose faith. Keep praying.” are often the words given to the desperate person. But God asks us to help ourselves and seek medical help.

Shame often prevents a person from seeking medical help because of this stigma towards mental illness. And even if they ask for help, the gravity of their problem is minimized as mere despair. Oh yes, I know of one death by suicide from a friend because of this reason alone.

Suicide survivors, like this blogger’s friend, will most likely struggle for many years, to find reasons why her sibling would even consider death by suicide. Were there other available options? What if one of these other options had been considered? All these questions make the grieving process last even longer. However long the process, this search for meaning, safe sharing with others and time, helps diminish the suffering. The sad fact remains that there is so much stigma surrounding death by suicide which is very regrettable. Maybe someday, a suicide survivor will discover it’s safe to share their stories with friends , families and other survivors.

Save a life. Read more on General information about suicide and suicide prevention

For Suicide Prevention Hotline in the Philippines,

The Philippines’ FIRST depression and suicide prevention hotline is now open.

Hopeline PH’s 24/7 hotlines: 0917-558-4673 (Globe)

0918-873-4673 (Smart)

02-88044673 (PLDT)

2919 (toll-free for Globe and TM)

NATIONAL MENTAL HEALTH CRISIS HOTLINE

A letter to my son in heaven

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Dear Luijoe,

It’s been 21 years . 21 years today…

heaven

  • without seeing your impish smile,
  • without receiving wild flowers with a note “I love you so very much, mama”
  • without your gentle reminder to pray
  • without your lectures on parenting,
  • without your crazy jokes
  • without pinching your handsome cheeks

These are all vibrant memories now tucked in my heart, which I stitched back together.

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Oh yes. The tears still stream down my cheeks just like today, because I miss you terribly. Love never died, even if you are gone from my embrace. Seventeen years ago, I felt the world swallowed me up. I thought I could not live with the unbearable, gut-wrenching pain in my heart. At times, I thought I went crazy. I barely survived. I had to find that courage to live because your two sisters and dad needed me. That difficult journey left me literally with a broken heart but not too broken, because why did God give me a second wind in life to make a difference in this mortal world?

Last night I asked your dad what would I be doing right now if you were still here. Definitely not a blogger. You know I only blogged because I wanted to comfort others in pain like me. This pain that will always be part of me for the rest of my life. Look, even VeePress thought my blog dedicated to you is worthy to be an ebook.

heaven
Come to think of it, I would probably still be a stay-at-home- mom until you leave home, like your two sisters did.

I wonder if you would still lecture me on “mom…it is like this..” You and your sisters were the best teachers on parenting that books could not deliver. I learned so much.

Today, I reflect on this new life, this new normal without you. From a zombie-like existence, I chose to live a meaningful life not for myself initially, but because I knew you would have wanted me to choose happiness over misery. This new normal is not anymore for you but for myself.

My new life is so much better. I should feel guilty because I would trade my life in an instant if I could have you back in my arms. But see, I love who I am now ever since you died 21  years ago. I don’t recognize my old self. Back then, my life purpose was to be just a doting mother to you and your two sisters, apathetic to what happened outside our cozy home. How could I ever imagine a life after a death of my precious child? Impossible, but I did. It must be true that you are here with me, your spiritual presence, and just standing by me , encouraging me to move on with my new normal.

Today, I give back this gratitude for the joy of this new life I have been blessed. I hope you are proud of me. I want to be a blessing to others and to my country. I am having the time of my life yet at times face challenges in fighting for a cause like that crying boy, Kian delos Santos, human rights, and other worthy issues. The lessons of the pain brought by your death gave me courage to carry on this fight.

When the going gets rough, I just tell myself, “You can get through this. You have gone through worse. This pain is nothing compared to losing Luijoe”.

So that is how life has been, my Luijoe. Your death gave me courage to continue to fight what is right, that wherever there is life there is hope.

I miss you so much right here where I belong.

I miss for the loss of what a handsome man you would have become (almost 28 years old now, but instead you are forever six years old.).

luijoe at the cemetery

I miss the loss of the life I would have if you were here.

I miss those times you would point to that lovely blue and white house where you promised to build one for me in the future. Now that I think of it, this house you promised will come forth in eternal life, when we meet again.

flowers-from-my-boy
 For the past 17 years, visiting the cemetery, bringing bouquet and honoring your life is what we can only do.

I will soon be there by your resting place , with a bunch of flowers and a note etched in my heart “I love you so very much, Luijoe”.

Love.
Mama

The Wounded Bird Syndrome

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wounded bird syndromeThey say marriage is for better or for worse. Couples try to support and care for each other, through good times and bad. Usually, when one of us hits rock bottom, the other can try to be the mainstay for a little while, to help the other along. But what happens when our child dies? The couple is now cast into the same dark place, struggling with the worst thing they have ever faced. Couples are there together, but they may discover that they are also there alone.

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Now not all couples in grief experience this dilemma. I believe that marriages with “wounded bird syndrome” suffer the most. What is the “wounded bird syndrome”?

Many times a nurturer will marry a wounded bird who is extremely dependent. They need their spouse to fulfill their every need. As a result, it puts a lot of pressure on the relationship. The person who is the nurturer feels as if the weight of the relationship is upon them and they feel smothered. The wounded bird is frustrated with the nurturer because they never can take care of every need that they have. What the wounded bird is trying to do is to have their needs met by someone who is not able to meet them.

A wounded bird in grief will seek someone to fulfill this unmet need.

I never knew what this meant until I got a text message one day from Cecile (names and events are changed to protect their identities). She asked “How can I tell Peter,my boyfriend to move on without being insensitive?” Then Cecile and I talked on the landline phone. She explained that her boyfriend lost his 5 year old daughter , Samantha in a car accident over 6 months ago. Not that I am nosy or anything like that, I asked if she was the mother of the girl.

“No. Peter and his wife were already separated a year before the accident” Cecile said.

Would it have been rude of me to ask: “Where’s the proof they are separated?” I just treated Cecile as a support system to Peter. For the next three months, Cecile and I were in contact. She wanted to comfort her boyfriend in his most difficult moment. Knowing how important support is, I gave tips on Handling the Bereaved. Then one day, a friend asked me to help a bereaved mother.

My friend said “Emma lost her 5 year old daughter to a car accident a few months ago. Can you talk to her? “.

DING-DONG. Something rang inside my mind.

I asked my friend “Is Samantha the name of her daughter who died on May 13, 2005?”

My friend affirmed.

What a small word our grief circle is!

The succeeding text messages infuriated me. I felt like a fool. I found out that Emma and Peter are very much married.

I immediately texted Cecile and confronted her about this revelation.

Cecile pleaded “Please don’t mention we talked”

I shouldn’t have given advice to Cecile in the first place. She used Peter’s grief to her advantage so they could get close and continue their trysts. Like a wounded bird, Cecile nurtured Peter with the grief support I provided. I was so mad.

I met up with Emma finally. I wanted to tell her about her husband’s girlfriend. A couple’s grief gets even more complicated with a third party. I waited for the right opportunity and allowed her to unload her thoughts and feelings. I found out that she knew about the existence of the girl even prior to Samantha’s death. As far as she knew, that relationship ended. I felt that I could not continue talking to Emma until I revealed the truth. I felt like a hypocrite if I withheld that tidbit.

I released the bombshell.

Emma’s face crumpled.

I wanted to cry when I saw her pained expression.

I thought she would kill me with this revelation but thank goodness she was full of gratitude.

I told her that she is not alone with the wounded bird syndrome. Another bereaved mother experienced the same situation with a “girl friend” of her spouse. What helped the couple was the knowledge that couples grieve differently. The Compassionate Friends, helped with this revelation. The spouse found comfort and strength in talking to other parents who have battled through similar difficulties and survived them. There is hope in Emma and Peter’s marriage. I introduced her to Angie, the bereaved mother who almost lost her spouse to a cunning girlfriend.

It is often said that a relationship is like a dance: we have to find a tempo that works for us both, but then each of has our own steps. Grieving will probably intensify our awareness of each other and our sense of ‘together yet alone’. The need to remember our child and to share memories will always be there. But our lives do continue, and the insights into our relationship that have been so painfully discovered as we grieve may enrich our partnership in the years ahead.