Ugly, ugly world

My dearest Vixen.

What an ugly world this his been since you left. I hate waking up. I hate the days. I look forward only to those two hours of drink and solitude I have each day away from home, six beers and two shots of scotch in a bar before heading back home...each day without you, each night without you.

This is life now. It is hardly life.

Every time I sleep I think of never waking, but I always do.

This is life now. It is a daily torment.

Living without you

My dearest Vixen,

More than a day has passed since you died, and this world has become unbearable without you. I wake up waiting to hear your footsteps, only to find silence. I look to where you used to sleep, knowing I will never see you there again. I come home knowing you will never be there again to welcome me. I hear the rain knowing you will never again shake upon its sound, terrified of thunder. All the cares and worries that concerned you, all gone now, save for the memory of what once was.

When Boobie died, I had you and Almond for comfort. When Almond died, I had you. Now that you're gone, I have nothing. How many times have I asked you, in the silence of our hearts, not to leave me? How many times have I asked the fates or whoever is in charge of the universe to let me go first? The time for your feeding comes: you are not there.

Of course my surviving you is better for you. Who else would take care of you? The thought makes the pain no less. There is this awareness of your absence everywhere at home, even outside.

You are gone, and I can hardly bear it.

I walked around early tonight, almost in a daze, but not quite. For the first time in more than four years, I had a drink. I had three--J&B, straight up. I drank to your life. I thanked you for all that you were and always will be to me. I drank to following you soon.

They who love little

An employee in the company I work for was buried today. I never knew her. She was on a mountain in Zambales province with her mountaineering friends, crossing a creek, when she was swept away by the rampaging waters brought about by typhoon Fensheng. That was Sunday, June 22. Her body was found some time Monday morning. Jhoanna, as her name was, was an only child. She was also single.

How bleak the world must be today for her parents. When you lose your only child, what have you left? Where lies your consolation in a world gone mad, a life suddenly turned upside down? Darkness comes more grimly somehow, the silence more oppressively. In times of grief, you survive by holding on to what you have left. But when it is an only child that you lose, finding that "something left" must be next to impossible.

I know the pain of loss. Even with the passage of time, it creeps up on you every now and again, making you pause to reflect on life as it has been ever since such loss--and wonder what is left. As you remember the good days, the days ahead seem even more daunting.

How we who grieve envy those who love little. They never will know the pain, the loss, the utter helplessness and hopelessness that we feel upon a loss. They may lose their loved ones, but they get by well. Their lives, after all, are focused on other things.

And they who love little are not as uncommon as it may seem. Rather, they are everywhere, focused on their careers, on accumulating wealth, on reaping honors, on making discoveries.

In a season of loss, such as I have known, it is easy to envy them--those people whose lives center on their careers, their work, their art, their science. For them, after all, what is there to lose that they cannot have again? Careers can be replaced, so can jobs, so can the outlet for artistic expression or scientific pursuit.

But how do you replace a life? A life lost is lost; there is no replacement. The world changes dramatically, and the change is irreversible.

Indeed, how bleak the world can be for those who have loved much and lost. How envious we become of those who love little. They can never really be hurt.

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