In the past 20 years while my mom still drew breath, I have learned to hug her, tell her how much she meant to me, and kiss her on the forehead. I grew up as an only child immersed in books and thus I was neither expressive nor social. (Marriage changed all that, but that is another story.)

I am grateful, because when I planted my last kiss on her forehead, she was already cold.

I felt surreal during the past four days. From the phone call I got last Monday at 1 a.m., telling me that my mom stopped breathing, to this morning, witnessing her remains entering the maw of the incinerator, I felt like I was floating through a black-and-white episode of the Twilight Zone.

I chose to be Stoic for the meantime: do what you can, accept what you cannot change. I refused to be paralyzed by grief. I had to keep mental clarity for the decisions to be made and problems to be solved. I will have plenty of time to mourn later.

Yet I must admit to dark musings. Is this all there is? Sure, while we are young and energetic, we carve a great life. We rack up awards, taste worldly pleasures, and enjoy community.

But what awaits some – sooner if not later – will be the uphill battle against a protracted, agonizing illness. For others, it will be the dark chamber: the dulling of mental faculties, the loss of executive functions. For many, it will be attending more and more funerals, until one reaches his own.

So what is the point of that great life, if it will all succumb to pain and tears?

Still, I am grateful:

• That my mom died peacefully in her sleep. It could have been much worse.
• That my wife Lucy and my cousins Eugene, Eric, and Ellen supported me in the administrative matters.
• That my first cousins flew in from Cebu to pay their respects. I have not seen them for 30 years and during the wake, they regaled me with stories about my mom’s kindness. While they studied in Manila, my mom cooked their baon, provided allowances, and even shouldered their taxi fare because she didn’t trust the buses. “Koko” was their second mom – and I didn’t know it then!
• That I have a good boss who covered for me and a solid team who didn’t bother me with work problems. (But I checked my work emails and Viber from time to time.)
• That the funeral, columbarium, and catering service-providers were efficient. (Hint: it helps to be process-oriented.)
• That Lucy and I had the energy to manage the wake. (Sustained by the Spirit, powered by coffee.)

So, yes. Life can seem futile in the end. “We were with child, we writhed in pain, but we gave birth to wind” (Isaiah 26:18).

But life carries its own gifts and glories, and for that we can be grateful amidst the grief. “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens… a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 4).

And what I am most grateful for? For those in Jesus Christ, Death does not have the final word. The Ravager will, one day, be himself ravaged. He is the defeated foe. In due time, God will make everything right.

Everything.

As I type this, I feel like I can sleep for a week. At last, I get the solitude I have been craving for (fellow introverts can relate). My mom is now at her final resting place. The flowers at the funeral chapel are being thrown away. The mourners have gone home.

Time to decompress. Time to reflect. The void is real. She really is gone. The enormity of being orphaned is now sinking in. The quiet heartache will finally get the attention it deserves.

For those who poured out their condolences to me and my family, thank you.

For those who took the time to pay their respects, thank you.

For my family, especially the cousins, both from Manila and Cebu, thank you.

Only in the darkest valleys can love shine the brightest.