Ripping the Bandage Off

I can’t believe it’s been a month since Karlo passed away. Sometimes I still feel pretty raw about it, like it just happened last week. Other days feel normal, or as close to the norm that I got used to since he moved out.  To be honest, I don’t want to dwell on it, but the images of my most traumatic experience tend to sneak into my mind from time to time. It’s good that I’ve gone back to work — I at least have an excuse for pushing those images away.  Karlo was the kind of person who lived under the banner of avoidance. He didn’t have the heart for addressing difficult issues, but I was Miss We-Need-To-Talk (he probably felt like having a heart attack whenever I said those words) because I’ve always thought that wounds needed to be exposed to heal properly, rather than leaving them to fester under wraps. I think I’m ready to rip the bandage off of this one.

April 21 was a Tuesday. I had to work the previous Saturday, so I traded it in for Tuesday. I excitedly told the girls that I didn’t have work that day, and we made a list of things that we were going to do together. We decided on salon kikay time, and I pulled all the stops – we brought out my hairdryer, giant roller brushes, nice makeup palettes, the works! I gave them a bath earlier than usual so that I can dry and style their hair. They picked nice dresses to wear and were going to put on a show for Karlo, their default audience-slash-#1 fan. The girls had just gotten into Steven Universe, and they were so busy memorizing the words to the different songs. They were so excited and Mikaela shouted, “This is going to be the best day ever!”

Meanwhile, I could tell Karlo wasn’t feeling okay. I took a break from the kids and sat next to him while he typed on his computer. I cheerfully told him that I was off work that day, so I had all the time to go over his slides and answer questions, provide a second opinion, whatever he needed. I only had a meeting at 5PM, but I was free the rest of the day.

Then I noticed the look on his face – it wasn’t just work or some other thing. It was the same look that he had on the two previous occasions that he had to be admitted in the psychiatric unit for suicidal intent. I gently prodded him and asked what he was thinking, and that was when we had that “I’m over my peak” conversation. I sort of got what he meant and said that I sometimes feel the same way. I said, “Sometimes, I think I missed my ‘peak’ altogether, having had to stay at home and stuff, you know? And I don’t know if it’s an age thing, but I feel like I don’t want anything for myself anymore, I’m okay here. I’m okay with taking the backseat for those two.”

We both looked at our girls sitting on the bed, holding their lyrics sheets and trying to memorize every word. Karlo rubbed his face with both hands and muttered, “I’ll be fine. I just need to get through today.” I told him I was right there if he needed a break or someone to talk to. He nodded and went back to work. The girls and I proceeded with our kikay activities as planned, and they took turns singing for their Dada. He gave each of them his full attention and complimented them on their performance.

Around 4PM, Karlo left the room and I thought he was going to make some coffee or get something to eat. I checked my email and saw that my meeting was moved to 7PM. I got wiped out from being super extra Mom, so I decided to get some rest. After my meeting, I was a little puzzled that Karlo still hadn’t come up. It was close to dinnertime and I was getting hungry, so I decided to go downstairs.

A heavy knot was beginning to form in my gut, but I tried to ignore it. I noticed that the aircon in the guest room was on, and I thought he might’ve taken a nap there, away from all the ruckus. I carefully opened the door so as not to alarm him, and I immediately freaked out. It only took me a second figure out what happened. I couldn’t think, or maybe I couldn’t stop thinking, I don’t really know. My mind was just a messy tangle of thoughts.

What did you do?! Oh my God, wake up!

I should have checked on him sooner. I should have followed him around. I should have…

Was there anything I could have done?

Call Jun. Call Jun. He’ll know what to do.

How long has it been?

His nails are blue. His color. Oh God, his color.

How can you do this?! I went through hell and high water to get you to a safe place and you bail on me like this?!

I cried, I bargained, I prayed. I was desperate, angry, and panicking at the same time. I felt like my chest was going to explode. “Dear God, please stay by my side, I can’t do this without You,” I prayed silently.

My sister offered to go with the ambulance, but I refused. Adrenals or no adrenals, I was still his wife. I needed to take care of him. I took an extra dose of prednisone and made sure I had backup meds in my bag.

When it was over, I knew I had to call my in-laws. And then I had to tell our kids in the morning. I got home from the ER past 4AM and had to wake up at 7:30 to accompany the people from the funeral home. It was such a long night/day and I was so exhausted. But it was quiet. It was finally quiet. I went out to the balcony and just let it all sink in.

I started talking to Karlo in my mind: “I understand your pain, I always have. I know you were tired of it all. I know you tried your best to do what was right. I wish it didn’t end this way, but I don’t want to hold you back. I forgive you. I’ll figure out how to do this. I’m not going to keep you from finding your peace.” And an image of him floated into my mind – he had this boyish grin that he had when I first visited him at the psych unit. I was a tearful wreck back then, but he smiled that smile as he hugged me and said, “Aww, don’t cry, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

That moment felt tremendously reassuring for me. I took a deep breath and went for a quick shower before heading to bed. As I was falling asleep, I saw his face again, all fresh and happy. I dreamt that he gave me a quick peck on the lips like he used to do when he thanked me for small favors. I jerked awake in surprise but settled back in bed, curling up around Katie.

He’s okay.

He is at peace.

He is free.

 

Isaiah 58:8-9 —

8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

9 Then you will call, and the LORD will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

Because He first loved us

Looking back at the last 20 years of my life sometimes feels like watching a terribly written drama. After Karlo and I reached the mutual decision to separate last year, we used to joke that we could write a script based on our life together and call it “Why Can’t I Have Nice Things?”. It would land somewhere in the awkward territory of a non-fiction drama and a darkly funny sitcom. I liked how we were comfortable enough with each other that we could (and frequently did) take a jab at each other without any bad blood between us. I think Karlo appreciated that too.

I remember plotting our “first episode” while waiting for our takeout order at a restaurant. Honestbee exited the Philippine market just as I was starting to rely on their grocery and food delivery services. For a while after that, Karlo used to buy me lunch on his way home from the gym and he would take a photo of my food and post it on his IG story with the hashtag #Honestbae. Back in the restaurant, I started lamenting about Honestbee (because we can’t have nice things, Pilipinas!) and how its main competitor was simply below par in my opinion. I threw up my hands melodramatically and said, “Why can’t I have nice things?” and he replied with, “You still have #Honestbae. Oh. Yeah, no, scratch that.” End of “Why Can’t I Have Nice Things” Episode 1. <wry grin>

When I first found out about his attraction to men, our younger daughter was just 2 months old. I was shocked, to say the least. It raised so many questions, with the number one question being, “How the heck did I miss this?????? Was I born without a gaydar??” When I finally confronted him about it, he originally said that he was bisexual. Later on, we both came to realize that he was straight up gay (contradicting phrase right there!) and was just not ready to admit it to himself at that time, much less confess it to another person who was, incidentally, his wife. He reassured me then that he wanted to make our marriage work and that was all I needed to hear. After recovering from my shock, I jokingly said, “Welp, you tell me this after 1 year and 2 kids, so I guess there’s no leaving you now.” He poked me in the ribs and rolled his eyes, but I knew he was relieved. It wasn’t all tears and tragedy after that moment. If anything, I feel like that was when I started to get to know him, like he finally started to let me in.

Before that, Karlo was so cautious around me that I felt like I married a total stranger. He was so careful about not letting anything “gay” slip out, that he never let ANYTHING out. After watching a movie, I would try to make conversation about it and I would get a generic “It was nice” or something along those lines. It was so baffling and awkward and weird! Fast forward to a couple of years later when, after watching Captain Marvel, we kept raving about Jude Law’s unexpectedly muscular physique, giggling and smacking each other out of kilig, while walking hand in hand. It’s an odd picture, but that was us. That was so us.

It took a lot from both of us to get from point A to point B; it wasn’t an overnight change. I wanted to encourage him to start unpacking his emotional baggage, so I mindfully suspended judgement, all the while praying for God to preserve my sanity (haha). Karlo taught me to be more accepting by needing acceptance. He showed me the borders of my own core beliefs and values by straining against them, testing for weak spots. Above all, he taught me how to love unconditionally by requiring it from me.

A few days before he moved out last year, we had a sincere conversation about future plans. He wanted to file for an annulment so that he can set me free. I argued that I did not want to be “set free” and that it really didn’t matter to me whether we formalize things or not, but he wanted to give me the chance to find a “better” husband, a “real” one, he said. I finally conceded but told him that I was only agreeing to it if it helped ease his guilt. I hugged him and said, “I agape love you” and he said, “I agape love you too.” Our romantic love was long dead, but agape was still very much there.  In offering to be his safe space, he became MY safe space.

He was my safe space, and I miss him.

---

1 John 4:19 – ‘We love because he first loved us.’ 

 

“Agape (Ancient Greek ἀγάπη, agapē) is a Greco-Christian term referring to love, “the highest form of love, charity” and “the love of God for man and of man for God”. The word is not to be confused with philia, brotherly love, or philautia, self-love, as it embraces a universal, unconditional love that transcends and persists regardless of circumstance. It goes beyond just the emotions to the extent of seeking the best for others.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Agape

 

“Agape love is unconcerned with the self and concerned with the greatest good of another. Agape isn’t born just out of emotions, feelings, familiarity, or attraction, but from the will and as a choice. Agape requires faithfulness, commitment, and sacrifice without expecting anything in return.”

https://www.christianity.com/wiki/christian-terms/what-does-agape-love-really-mean-in-the-bible.html

Pruning Season

This is the best String of Dolphins specimen that I have. All the others are too…stringy. It’s a trailing succulent that is propagated by cuttings, so most of the time there would be a couple of strands growing separately in a pot. This one has several branches forming a lush and beautiful clump. The interesting thing about this particular plant was that I’ve taken so many cuttings from it, that it ended up looking like a nearly dead stump at some point. Seeing it last night gave me a better insight on the following verses: “’I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.” (John 15:1-2). One of the elements of my third tattoo is actually a vine, based on verse 5 further down the same chapter: “I am the vine, you are the branches. He who abides in Me, and I in him, bears much fruit; for without Me you can do nothing.” It’s my last Jesus tat (so far) to remind me to anchor myself to the True Vine.

I sometimes wonder if plants feel anything when they get pruned. Every proverbial pruning I’ve been through was painful beyond belief. But looking back at each of those moments, I do see how *some* good came out of those experiences. I have to admit, I started to rely more and more on God until praying felt more natural, until prayer became the first instinctive response to any situation.

When my Dad passed away, I felt stripped of every sense of security that I had. I couldn’t even begin to figure out what to do! Karlo and I were just starting out with our growing family and were barely scraping by even with our combined income. My 3 sisters were all still in school. Our helpers left a week before Daddy had a stroke, followed by our 2 nannies while I was shuttling between my Dad in the hospital and my kids, who were 2 and 3 years old at the time, in what felt like the other end of the region. ‘Overwhelmed’ is too mild a word to describe my state.

It all somehow worked out — not without difficulties, for sure — but it still worked out. If you ask me how, I would just say “by God’s grace”. The solutions to the individual hurdles at the time are now kind of hazy, but the one thing I remember is this: whenever I felt lost, confused, or desperate, I prayed. I prayed and things worked out in one way or another, at just the perfect time. The Lord stripped away that false sense of security and replaced it with a growing faith in His goodness.

In the aftermath of that event (like it wasn’t bad enough already), my sisters and I faced the possibility of losing our home because of estate concerns on top of our Dad’s hospital bills. Ever since I started working, I have always been careful about money, but no amount of diligence and controlled spending can prepare anyone for this series of financial blows. I prayed for a solution, a clue, a lead on who to reach out to, anything to help us out. I prayed for a miracle but at the same time surrendered our home to God. I tacked Daniel 3:18 at the end of every prayer, as a promise on my end that whatever the outcome, I will continue to trust the Lord.

Day by day, I would stumble on 2 Chronicles 20:15 –  “Thus says the Lord to you: ‘Do not be afraid nor dismayed because of this great multitude, for the battle is not yours, but God’s.’” I encountered it across the different devotional series that I was reading at the time, in my small group chat group, verse of the day mailing lists, etc. It kept popping up everywhere, that it was impossible to ignore!

It took months for the estate proceedings to be completed, and I tried my best to not be anxious about it. I clung to “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10) because being still is NOT my strongest suit. I have always been resourceful and self-sufficient, but the Lord removed those as well and replaced them with a personal testimony of His abundant provision. He allowed us to keep the home that our parents built for us. 🙂 Learning to trust in God’s provision is liberating, to say the least. It’s such a huge relief to know that I don’t have to carry the world on my shoulders!

And so now, it feels like I am in yet another season of pruning. Honestly, I feel like I haven’t had that much breathing room in between, and my spirit is like that ugly stump of what was supposed to be a lovely string of dolphins. But I know that in time, that stump will grow beautiful branches, well-adjusted ones that are healthier than the original string. In the meantime, I will keep hang in there (by tooth and claw!) like David who said, “’I would have lost heart, unless I had believed That I would see the goodness of the Lord In the land of the living.” (Psalm 27:13)

 

PS: I can’t believe I just quoted King David. Karlo and I used to joke that he was so emo, but given my current situation, he’s pretty much my go-to guy right now.

 

 

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

2 a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3 a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
4 a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5 a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6 a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7 a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8 a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

I will sing in the shadow of Your wings

When the ER doctor called the time of death, she came out to break the news and asked me if I wanted to spend a few minutes with him before they took his body down to the morgue. I think I already stopped crying by that time, having accepted the inevitable. They gave me time to be alone with him and for that, I am grateful. He looked peaceful, like he was just sleeping. I used to joke that he slept like the dead because he really did, mouth open and all. I stroked his hair, remembering that I offered to give him a haircut that same morning. He refused even though I promised to be really careful. And as with his other decisions, I respected it and kept my space.

I looked at his face and felt a twinge of annoyance. Was he smiling?? He looked like he was smiling. I have seen dead bodies before, but this was the first time I’ve seen anyone who still looked handsome, even in death. My eyes scanned the rest of him and I was reminded of how much I knew him and knew of him. I had almost forgotten some things since he moved out in June last year, but the details were still unchanged.  The unruly bangs, which he used to sweep to the middle of his forehead to creep me out.

The four prominent moles on his face, with my favorite being the one on his right temple.  It added to his irresistible boyish charm. His smooth neck that I used to be so obsessed with because it was so different from mine. That single strand of hair somewhere between his right jaw and neck that often grew long because he always missed it when he shaved. It made me chuckle to see how long it was at that time – he had missed it again after shaving twice in the past couple of days.

And then my gaze landed on his ear and that sent me quickly down to Sobsville. I couldn’t help but think that the girls and I would miss his ears, those giant fluffy earlobes that we all loved to play with. He had the softest earlobes on the planet.

The ER resident entered the room and blessed his body, and I whispered goodbye before I left.

It took a long time for his papers to be processed and while we waited outside the ER, I mostly cried and prayed silently. An unwelcome thought slowly made its way into my mind: was he still running away from God or did he make peace before he decided he was leaving this life for good? Then I remembered that one time when he and I were fighting, and I was alone in the balcony, crying my heart out to God like a child who was wronged cries out to a parent.

I was telling Him of what Karlo did and was asking Him to do something about it. It sounds a little funny, I know, but I was being as honest as I could get. I was with my God after all, my Father, my safe space where I can say what’s on my mind without being judged. And in the middle of my rants and tears, I suddenly envisioned Karlo huddled safely under protective wings. I used to imagine myself that way whenever I was in trouble, to remind myself of Psalm 91:4 – “’He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.” It was like God was gently telling me, “He is my child too.” That was the moment when I stopped pitting myself against Karlo. From then on, whenever we fought, he was never the enemy. “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Ephesians 6:12). I always kept in mind that we were on the same side of the fence fighting this thing together.

I clung to those memories and verses to soothe my worries. While conversing with God, I said, “You were the one who showed me that he was still your child no matter how hard he tried to turn away from you. Thank You for reminding me of that.” Karlo had already accepted Jesus. He was (and still is) a child of God. There was no real turning back from that. The truth does not stop being true just because you choose to stop believing it. Now I know that he is free and at peace, and that makes life after KD much more bearable for me.

See you at the finish line, Babycakes. I know you’ll be there to cheer me on and you’ll be super proud when I finish strong.

 

Hebrews 12:1-3 — “Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”

Psalm 63:7 — “Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.”

Evisceration

While looking for devotionals on grieving, I came across this article by Levi Lusko. I first read it when my dad passed away in 2016 and it was just so on point, that I went back and read it again today. It starts with a description of how lions hunt:

“While the females stalk their prey from behind, the king of the jungle will come from the front and let loose one of those roars that gives him his spot at the top of the food chain. This sound is so powerful it can be heard for up to five miles away. Hearing that terrifying noise causes the gazelle or antelope to run as far as they can away from whatever made that sound.

What they don’t know is that as scary as it sounded, the one who did the roaring is more bark than bite. So away they go — directly into the path of the real threat: the waiting lioness. In other words, the prey’s instincts are wrong. Going with their guts causes them to make the last mistake of their short, little lives. It’s counterintuitive, but the right choice would be to override their emotions and run toward the roar.”

My grief is telling me to keep mum, glaze over details, and keep things light because our story might be too much for “normal” people to handle. Fear of criticism, backtalk, gossip, etc. is telling me to keep things simple. It’s the roar of the lion, trying to scare me into running the other way, but I refuse to be intimidated. I will choose to charge towards the roar.

A lot of people around the world are grieving in one way or another. There’s no one way to grieve, really. For me, whenever I write about anything, I feel like I am pouring my heart out on paper (or well, a web page) and leaving my emotions there. Most times I don’t even read my older posts, but I am leaving them here, for someone else to pick up at their time of need.

It’s been a while since I started writing again and while it’s been cathartic, I also had some qualms because my stories are not just about me. In the past year, I’ve politely refused to talk about what I’ve gone through, even to my closest family and friends, because I know how emotionally fragile and conflicted Karlo already was. But looking back on our journey, skipping over the hard parts will also force me to bury our beautiful moments. So now I’ve decided to write about it, bit by bit. There is, after all, no one to protect anymore – he is now up there, untouchable and whole. As for me, I kind of took it upon myself to be his shield in all our years together. I figured I was strong enough to endure the blows for him, and that is still true now. He hated it, hated seeing me get hurt, hated how I defended him from everyone, hated seeing me cry…but each and every time, I always wiped my tears, got up, and blatantly refused to give up on him. Now that I have no one to shield, it actually feels easier to talk (or write) about things, and that’s what I’ve decided to do, so that all this pain will not be wasted.