I cannot human properly today.

when my father died, I didn't had time to grief. I held his head. I whispered in his ear. I kissed his hands. I helped the nurses took off all the cables. I brought a seat to my mom. I wrapped his still warm body. I called the distant family, our closest neighbours, and answered the same questions for gazillion times. I asked my cousin to book the funeral home. I signed lots of paperwork. then I went home alone.

I took his suit. his favourite shoes. I took my time to choose a pair of socks because oh how he loved socks. he had a lot of socks. I chose a tie, the one he wore at my brother's wedding. it reminds me how he didn't attend mine. but it's okay. I can grieve later.

then I went to the funeral home. it was already packed with a lot of unfamiliar faces demanded to be recognized. I sneaked to the morgue. I stare at you. hoping that you could at least pull one last silly practical joke and suddenly raised your eyebrow or jumped at me. you didn't. but I didn't cry. I cannot cry. there were a lot of people out there and I need to "socialize".

dark jokes is always my coping mechanism.

my therapist suggest writing... well that works too, but I prefer jokes. that night, as mom and I lied in the tv room, mom said, "wow, mama jadi janda..." to which I replied, "wow, adek jadi yatim..." dark jokes run in the family.

that night, we fell asleep and didn't cry.

when my brother and his wife arrived the next morning, they cried. as much as I could remember, I did not cry. I mean, someone has to function properly, right? the day's still long and there will be more people coming. I cannot cry right now. I'll be exhausted if I cry right now.

there's a gospel song that I really love.

the lyric is simple yet meaningful for me. I used to play it in the piano and sing it quietly. whenever my little baby cousin threw tantrums, I sing or hum the song to him and he went calm almost immediately. so when I was in the hospital room with my father as he screamed and groaned in pain, I sang the song to him. and to my surprise, he tried his best to sing it too. we sing for hours. we sing it for days. he even sing it alone when I'm too tired and my throat was sore. but then I have to chime in because he ran out of breath yet wanted to hear the song.

we sing it at the service in the funeral home. and I finally cried. we sing it as we lower his coffin to the ground, to his final resting peace. and I cried. and mom cried. and my little baby cousin cried.

it was my favourite song, pa.

I always thought I was going to be in The 27 Club. and I told mom to sing that song at my funeral. I never imagined that now I associate the song to you. to the war we fought. to the pain you and I both had to endure, because every scrap of you would be taken from me.

I'm way pass 27 now. I made it out alive. you were 61. you made it to the finish line.

we won.

for months after you're gone, I had nightmares.

I still haven't visited your grave, but that's for another story and grief is an endless journey.

this morning, I put on the same shirt I wore two years ago when you left. the one that I took from your wardrobe because I ran out of clothes. maybe one day I will forget about this shirt, but today I won't.

I sit down and write this while singing the song to myself.

then I let myself cry.

I will always miss you.

I'm a lot better now, so don't you worry. Your little girl will always be fine.