I never felt what real sadness was like until I lost my father. It’s a sadness that comes from out of the blue and just walks in on you when you least expect it, like when you’re onboard a public transpo or when you’re watching Les Misérables. Of all places! Really.
I didn’t know if I was crying for Jean Valjean or for what happened that tragic Saturday morning. It started with a lump in my throat then progressed to difficulty in swallowing; then my eyes started to well and then the entire dam just broke. So when everyone else have gathered themselves and I was still sniffing, I knew it wasn’t Jean Valjean.
The sadness of losing a parent is never the same as losing a boyfriend to another or someone who considered you their favorite person, yet just walked away without as much as a goodbye. The melancholia is not even close to realizing that someone deleted your number and so when you texted an entire novel and all you get is “who u”; or crushing over someone who makes you feel so giddy just seeing their name on your phone but doesn’t see your sheer awesomeness. It’s not even close to unrequited love.
It’s a sadness that just tears you apart. As you remember every gritty detail of that person who fed you when you were little; helped you through your toilet-training days; took you to school and fetched you; spanked you; carried you to your room as you feign sleeping on the couch; taught you songs; held your hand when you crossed the street… And a whole lot of memories that will forever be just that. Memories.
They say it gets easier with time. Maybe. I’m sure it will be. But now, it’s just painful; especially when everything’s quiet and everyone else is asleep. And then you have to be ok because you just can’t fall apart. There’s work, and then there’s still mom who needs us, no matter how strong she may seem. I can see beyond the strength.
And so until we get used to this sadness and void in our lives, tomorrow and the next days may just as well be another show.