Remembering a son

"Today, we remember with gratitude your kindness and the kindness of all who helped us during my son's passing 3 years ago," I text my friends.

"Amen," one texts back, "may our departed loved ones be now in the great presence of God."

Yes, it's been 3 years since my son took his own life. Sometimes, I am still surprised that my ears strain to listen to his familiar words, "Mom, where are you?" as he would habitually peek inside my door for a chat. When he was alive.

It's a funny thing about grief. One thinks for a while that the heart is settled; but no, the heart itself plays tricks   that the mind could never fathom.

My experiences of waiting and yearning and wanting to start a conversation with Francis is not unlike the experiences of author Joan Didion. In her book, The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan relates how she refused to give away her dead husband's shoes; she reasoned, "what would he wear when he comes back?"

Like Didion, I entered into a year (or perhaps more) of magical thinking. In fact, I AM in a magical time. STILL.

Luscious Tomatoes

source: http://www.brecorder.com/images/pic2012/10/tomatoes.jpg

How does one experience the sensuousness of a poem? one way is by listening to someone read  "Ode to the Tomato" by Pablo Neruda in Filipino. I never thought tomatoes can be that malibog! Much more sensuous, perhaps, than humans.