Perfect Storm

On the fourth month after Karlo’s death, I found myself grappling with guilt. I’ve read that those who were bereaved by suicide have 2 recurring questions: 1) Why did he/she do it? 2) Could I have done anything to prevent it? For me, the latter is the one that rears its ugly head from time to time.

Images from that night started to resurface even though I tried my best to keep them at bay. His color was the most distressing detail. Since we were married, I’ve always been keenly aware of him, using small visual cues to gauge how he was feeling. Like whenever we were out drinking with friends, I could tell by the color of his lips when he’s had too much to drink. I’d tell him gently to ease up and he trusted my judgement. And the time when he dislocated his shoulder after he came home from the gym — he fell down in pain and I ran to him when I saw how pale his face was. We were able to reduce his shoulder back into its socket and his color returned. But that night was different. When I found him, he wasn’t even pale anymore, his skin was sallow and mottled. I was too late and I felt like a failure. I felt like I failed to protect him, to take care of him, to keep him alive.

My rational brain knows that these thoughts don’t make sense, that I shouldn’t feel this way and that I shouldn’t dwell on it. But feelings are irrational, they know no reason. Emotions sometimes demand to be felt in all their intensity until they ebb away. So I let myself run through the day’s details all over again, even though I wanted nothing more than to forget about everything.

I was actually in the garden earlier that afternoon and I wanted to check on him in the guest room. But I remembered that he said he usually went there to talk on the phone with the person he was dating, so I wanted to give him some privacy. He felt caged in enough with the community quarantine and I didn’t want to add to that.

I thought back to the past two times that he was suicidal — the first one was in June last year and I had no idea that he was feeling that way. He did something nice for me that afternoon and I appreciated it so much, that I felt like giving him a hug. I looked for him upstairs and started getting worried when I couldn’t find him in the usual places. I finally saw him sitting by himself in the lower balcony, livid with rage at some argument he was having in a group chat. When I saw his face, I sat with him and listened while he shared his anger and disillusionment, until he started sobbing and admitted that he needed help.

The second time was in December, a day after I came home from a 3-day out of town trip. He was already living on his own by that time, but stayed here at home with one daughter while I was traveling with the other. It was a hectic weekend for the both of us, and it was such a relief that the weekend was over, and that we both were able to cover all parental responsibilities. I knew he was exhausted from being one of the chaperones on a school field trip and having to complete one of his deliverables at work, so with a sheepish smile, I asked him if I could just finish my coffee before I dropped him off at his place. There was something in the way he looked — puffy eyes and hunched over while sitting there, waiting for me to drive him back to Berkeley. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but he looked utterly defeated. I tried to cheer him up by talking about the guy he was dating, tangentially at first, to kind of let him know that I am aware of it and that I’m fine He smiled and tried to hold up his end of the conversation for a few seconds until his face suddenly crumbled and he blurted out what he was planning to do when he was alone at his place.

In both of those near-misses, I had no idea that he was at the end of his rope. I just happened to be there at the right time. With his third attempt, my gut instinct failed; I felt a heavy knot of worry in my stomach hours too late.

I know it’s ridiculous for me to shoulder the guilt, but it just won’t go away. I feel like I should have done more, tried harder, followed him closely or something. I started doubting my decision to give him space on that day, and in the previous months in general.

I was aimlessly reading “Not by Sight: A Fresh Look at Old Stories of Walking by Faith” by Jon Bloom, when I came across this line: “Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven — for she loved much.” I got stuck there for a while and started tearing up. 1 Peter 4:8 (NLT) floated into my mind: “Most important of all, continue to show deep love for each other, for love covers a multitude of sins.”

I tried to think back on how I dealt with our separation after I was done with my knee-jerk reactions of anger and lashing out and all that. Giving him the space that he needed and respecting his decisions were based entirely on (agape) love. I loved him as a person, an adult with his own wants and needs; I didn’t just want to preserve a version of him that suited me and my needs, but accepted that complex human being, flaws and all. I want to believe that that is enough. I want to believe that that was what he needed to feel during his short stint on earth.

Moving Out

It’s been three months since Karlo passed away. It’s been three months and I still wasn’t ready to empty his condo unit, but it had to be done anyway. The contract was up and the lease coordinator said that the building management was finally allowing non-residents to enter again.

I scheduled the move on a Friday because I knew that I would be completely useless afterwards. I took time off from work and asked Jun to come with me. I originally wanted to wait until Mom and Dad flew in, but given the current situation, that might not be possible for another couple of months.

The flashbacks were a beast.

The first time I walked down that hallway, I remember feeling hopeful for him. Sure, I was miserable for myself, but I was genuinely happy for him. He had so many things to look forward to. He was starting a new life, a chance to correct his “mistake”, a clean slate. The unit was small but beautifully designed, perfect for a single occupant. It was fully furnished and it stood out against all the other units that we viewed that day.

The last time I was there was in February. The girls were running way ahead of me, laughing and shouting “Daddy, Daddy!!!”, proudly showing me that they knew their way to their Dad’s place. We were all going to go swimming on that particularly hot day.

I got his keys from my bag and opened the door, and the familiar smell of his laundry and sheets welcomed me at the doorway. Scents have always been my strongest memory triggers and it smelled like he had just left the room a moment ago. I damn near cried right there, standing awkwardly at the doorway. Thanks a lot, amygdala.

I looked around before touching anything, just soaking in how he had left his room before he returned home to stay with us during the enhanced community quarantine. A few things sent sharp pangs of heartache here and there — the framed motivational quote that I made for him as a moving in present; the girls’ drawings and little love notes that he kept on his desk; the comb on the table close to the bathroom. He never used to own a comb or a hairbrush, but he finally bought one at some point so that the girls wouldn’t look so bedraggled every time they came home from his place.

Two of Karlo’s uncles and two other companions drove all the way from the south to help me haul everything back home. There wasn’t really a lot to bring home, just 3 moving boxes and a couple of bags, mostly containing clothes, kitchen stuff and some personal effects. I carefully decided on which items would go at the very top of the boxes, so that I can grab them right away without having to go through a million memories that I wasn’t ready to wrestle with at the moment. The sheets and Snorky the Snorlax plushie were at the very top; I was planning on dropping them off at the laundry shop the very next day. The file case with a few important documents, and his laptop computer were right underneath the bed sheets, to be kept safe in my office. The rest will just have to sit there in their boxes until Mom and Dad get here.

When we were done, I took one last look around at the empty unit, checking if we had overlooked anything. I could almost hear Karlo’s usual corny reply to my did-we-leave-anything last scan before checking out of hotels and resorts. He would always feign alarm and say, “Wait!! We did leave something…*deep sigh*… MEMORIES.” Sobrang baduy, nakakainis! I always rolled my eyes at him, but I think this time, he would be right. He did leave memories here. I wasn’t part of those memories, but they included his solo bonding moments with the kids. It was their cool after-school hang out with a swimming pool. It was his own space where he lived, no matter how briefly, as an independent, working adult.

I was glad that Jun and I had other people there with us, or we might have been stuck in that room for ages, drowning in sentimentality. It was easier to pull myself together and just kind of hold it all in while we had company. Jun was the last one to leave, and I jokingly told him that I’ll just sit there and cry for a while after he drives off. It turned out not being much of a joke after all. I did end up sitting in our garage for about half an hour, just letting it all out before I had to run upstairs and observe the girls participate in their trial virtual classes for the coming school year.

I went back to the building today to settle Karlo’s remaining utility bills and I waited for the lease coordinator at the lobby. I suddenly recognized the song playing the background — it was “10,000 Reasons” by Matt Redman, a Christian worship song that the girls and I listened to at bedtime since they were toddlers. I’ve never heard worship songs being played in the building lobby before, but I’m glad I caught my favorite part of the song:

“The sun comes up

It’s a new day dawning,

It’s time to sing Your song again,

Whatever may pass

And whatever lies before me,

Let me be singing

When the evening comes.”

I definitely needed to hear that today. ❤ Bye, Berkeley.

Grit and Grace

“He made me this way. Why would He make me this way and then say it’s wrong to want what I want?”

That was Karlo’s major faith struggle. He walked away because he couldn’t understand why a ‘loving’ God would let anyone’s life be so miserable. The first time he realized that he liked men, he was mortified. He didn’t want it. He was a teenager at a new school, living in a different country, away from the rest of his family. He wanted to be ‘cool’, to have friends, to fit in, and he thought that being gay would lead to complications that he wasn’t ready to deal with.

Any sort of answer, even hypothetical ones, always led to dead ends. I gave up trying to find answers for him; it was really a conversation between him and God. He knew that because I openly said so. I told him that I wasn’t there to tell him what was right or wrong, that I didn’t have the answers to all the why’s, and that I didn’t have solutions to all his troubles. I was just there to walk with him through that turbulent road, just so that he wouldn’t be alone.

We used to have objective conversations from time to time when we talked as friends, not as husband and wife, and it felt so rewarding to get him to talk to me like he doesn’t have to tiptoe around fragile glass. In one of these conversations, I remember telling him that it seemed like he was living out of boxes, kind of like someone who moves houses so frequently that they don’t even bother unpacking anymore. My heart ached for him. I wanted him to have a home, to have a place where he felt and knew he belonged. During these dialogues, I felt like he unpacked a little bit more – the good, the bad, the ugly. And over time, I learned that I was able to accept him more, even when we didn’t always agree with each other.

I’m not some superhuman angelic being with a high tolerance for everything. I have always been bull-headed and temperamental, or at least I was, before I sincerely pursued my walk of faith with Jesus. With my relationship with Karlo, the one thing that held me together was grace.

I spent some time last night reading about grace before going to bed. It sounds like a plain enough word, like something you say before meals or another term to describe elegant movement. So I Googled it, searching specifically for its use in the context of Christianity. Simply defined, grace is “the freely given, unmerited favor and love of God.” I wrote down other memorable quotes on grace in my (resurrected) journal:

“Grace is love that cares and stoops and rescues.”

“Grace is unconditional love toward a person who does not deserve it.”

“Grace is mercy, not merit.”

“Grace is the opposite of karma, which is getting what you deserve.”

And the source of this grace is God Himself, as shown in the life of Jesus. After witnessing all the crimes and depravity that humans are capable of, Jesus did not recoil in revulsion or distance Himself from the “unclean” ones. Instead, he sat with them, shared meals with them, let them feel that there was Someone who loved them still, and ultimately died on the cross so that we can all have a shot at going to Heaven when we die.  That is pure grace, and that was what I wanted to extend to Karlo, who has been avoiding God and faith and anything spiritual in the past 2 years or so.

I remember praying about it one time, asking God to MAKE him listen, to MAKE him turn his life back around but His answer in my heart was, “He is running away from Me, but he still listens to you.” Seriously, that wasn’t the answer that I was hoping for. I knew it was going to be an intensely challenging and emotionally draining task. It was going to be tough, but I made it my mission of sorts to keep the line of grace open in Karlo’s life.

My obedience to God’s will at that time forced me to grow – I had to reexamine my motives in all my interactions with Karlo and be mindful of my thoughts and words. I had to keep going back to the Bible (mostly 1 Corinthians 13:4-7) to measure my love against the only acceptable standard for me. Not pop culture, not relationship or self-help books, none of those things…I wanted my love for Karlo to replicate God’s love for me, so I knew which standard to choose.

I wanted nothing less than pure, untainted grace.  I wanted Karlo to remember what it felt like to have God’s grace carry him through the deepest valleys and how that same grace can help him soar through triumphs once again. And in order to do that, I had to draw from my own personal experiences of God’s saving grace. I am stubborn by nature, and I’d like to believe that God used my stubbornness as a starting point. Like a potter (Jeremiah 18:1-6) or a silver smith (Malachi 3:2-4), He built on it, reshaped and refined it until it turned into grit.

My grit comes from grace, nothing more, nothing less.

And I will continue to draw from that same grace to fuel my grit — this time, for my daughters and for myself.

Grief to Gratitude

Yesterday was Karlo’s 40^th day. I was reminded of this about a week ago, when the Feast of the Ascension was announced in our community chat group. In the Christian faith, the Ascension is the 40^th day after the Resurrection of Jesus. It was when Jesus had left the physical world, was taken up to heaven to take His seat at the right hand of God the Father. Catholics hold some sort of memorial for the 40^th day after death. I’m not sure what other Christian denominations do, but whatever it is, I feel like the event is more of a traditional thing meant to comfort the bereaved family. I don’t know if I’m supposed to do anything special or something new — I’ve already been praying for Karlo long before we separated, and I still think about him several times a day. What I did do was to kind of check in with myself and see if there were some thoughts or feelings that I’ve been dodging.

I’ve mostly gotten over the Shoulda-Woulda-Coulda’s by now and the grief has somewhat faded. I was honestly taken aback by how hard grief hit me in the first place because I thought I had successfully distanced myself emotionally from Karlo. We were in a neutral yet comfortable territory of co-parenting while reestablishing our friendship post separation. I asked him to stay here with us when we first caught wind of the government’s plans for an Enhanced Community Quarantine, and we were doing okay except that I frequently nagged him to take a shower (not always successful by the way…LOL! Sorry, Karl!). In any case, relationship-wise, we were okay.

What I had come to realize was that the grief that was unleashed was not just from his death, but from the whole experience of loving someone fully, to having to yield and let him go from my life, and THEN *actually* letting him go from this life onto the next. I played it so well and had hidden my scars from the past year, so that he wouldn’t drown in guilt and have a chance at finding his happiness. The finality of death and not having him around to be on the receiving end of my pain gave me the freedom to open Pandora’s box and just let it all out. It’s been cathartic.

I recently reposted something about a ball in a box hitting a pain button as a representation of grief and I would like to add that, at least for me, every time the ball hits the pain button, it loses some energy and shrinks a little. That’s what I’ve been doing in the past couple of weeks – I just let that ball hit that button over and over, as much as it wanted, until it has gotten smaller and smaller and has lost most of its force. So, yeah, I’m doing okay (so far).

The kids are doing even better. They have recovered far quicker that I did, and I sometimes worry that they might be in denial or something. But then I remember that I prayed for that, for God to protect their hearts, so I really shouldn’t be surprised. I’m chalking it up as an answered prayer. Sometimes, I start feeling guilty for going back to my usual routines and having good days, but didn’t I pray for my heart too? Guilt loses its grip when I remember Who is helping me get back on my feet.

Karlo will never be forgotten. He was and always will be a part of me. Like a reflex, I know how he would react to certain situations – how he would laugh at witty memes that we loved to send to each other, which kind of smile would light up his face whenever the kids did anything funny or adorable, how he would tease me when I’m obsessed over a new plant…he has left the physical world but still lives in my mind and in my heart.

My prayers have also evolved in the past weeks from praying for his soul to find peace, to thanking God for bringing him into my life. Like an ostrich getting its head out of the sand, I’m starting to look around, taking stock of the things that I need to get back to. It’s a pretty long list, but I know Jesus is looking over my shoulder at that list, and I trust Him to walk with me as I take baby steps, one day at a time.

• 

Judges 18:6 (NLT) — “Go in peace,” the priest replied. “For the LORD is watching over your journey.”

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.”