March is rapidly fading into oblivion but I still look forward to tomorrow. Easter brings that lovely feeling of being reborn – a new hope, a new beginning. Easter is one of the most important feasts in the Catholic calendar.
It’s been a quiet week, highlighted by the celebration of the Last Supper mass and watching Siete Palabras on TV. I’ve cried my eyes out the past week. Yes, tears are just a blink away but they’re really not tears of sadness because I am lonely, they’re more of that feeling of reaching out, taking a grasp at the beauty of life and remembering the past and such. I do appreciate these moments of silence that Holy Week brings but my mind is still pregnant with thoughts that I somehow wanted to share but cannot translate into words. I’ve missed our yearly Visita Iglesia, my son has to report to work the past two days and I don’t know how to drive so I just visited the nearby church, a few minutes away from the house.
Why do I sometimes torture myself reading something that reminds me of those days when I was having treatments – endless hospital visits, blood tests, chemotherapy and doctor visits? It just happened that the book I recently read deals on how to survive and prepare one’s self for the inevitable. There’s no telling that no matter how careful you are, at one time in your life, a loved one or a family member becomes a victim too. But then, the glorious moment of knowing that you will get well and having that gargantuan faith in a loving Creator is more than enough to make you feel that you are truly, truly blessed.
I had a long chat with a friend last night and we touched on so many issues and things dear to the heart. One such subject that we never get tired of sharing is about our respective families. She has an eight-month old baby girl and I have baby Nate to talk about. I told her that when my two kids were growing up, I didn’t notice much of their everyday development because I was working. It’s quite different though when you’ve got so much time in your hands and appreciate everything you see and even blog about it. Who knows, if blogging was in vogue thirty years ago, I might have filled up all the empty spaces allowed. I still keep their “love letters”, those small notes that I got to receive every day taped at our bedroom door, I regret though that we were not able to save most of the pictures of their younger years. Our photo albums were destroyed by typhoon Ondoy and even if those shots were painstakingly dried and restored by my son, some pictures were blurred at the edges.
Happy Easter everyone!