At Last, Him

Chapter 22: Maybe Tomorrow

The sky was a muted gray, casting a somber light over the sea of people gathered at Godspeed Garden Memorial Park. I stood at the front, just a few steps from the polished wooden casket adorned with white lilies and roses, flowers my father had always loved.

Lahat ng nakapaligid sa 'kin ay para bang malayo sa paningin ko. Para bang pinapanood ko lang sila mula sa bintana. Gano'n ang nararamdaman ko. The past days had blurred into one long, exhausting moment, each second carrying the weight of this day.

Pinagmasdan ko ang mga tao sa paligid, pilit inaninag ang mga pamilyar na mukha. Nakatayo sina Arkitekto Carlo at Arkitekto Jaron kasama ang ilan sa aming mga kasamahan mula sa Eco Arc Design, ang kanilang mga ekspresyon ay seryoso ngunit sumusuporta. Architect Marco stood nearby with Architect Pablo, their presence a testament to the strong connections I had formed, even in Bali. Nagtagpo ang mga mata namin sandali, at nagbigay si Kuya Marco ng bahagyang tango, isang kilos na tila nagdulot ng kirot sa aking dibdib sa pasasalamat.

My eyes drifted over to a cluster of familiar faces from my past: old classmates from elementary, high school, and college. Hindi ko inasahan na marami ang darating, pero naroon sila, nakatingin sa akin ng may malambing at maunawaing mga mata. Nearby, Hillary, Zarina, Dylan, and Herbert stood like pillars, their loyalty unspoken but deeply felt. Even in the haze of my grief, seeing them warmed a small, numb part of me.

My father's colleagues had come as well—men and women of various ages who'd worked alongside him for years, their presence confirming the respect he'd earned in his lifetime. My mother's friends and workmates were also there, some with tear-streaked faces, offering quiet comfort to her as she stood beside me. She was holding it together, barely, but I could see how broken she was. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for mine.

Beyond them, I saw my mother's side of the family. My grandparents, Lolo Ben and Lola Lina, sat quietly, their faces etched with both age and the sorrow of watching their daughter and grandchildren mourn. All four of my uncles—Uncle Vito, Uncle Celo, Uncle Marlon, and Uncle Moren—were there, standing close with their respective families. Tita Marra, who had always been like a second mother to me, stood with misty eyes, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. The sight of them all reminded me that despite the loss, we were not alone; we were surrounded by generations of love and shared memories.

My father's side of the family was also present, gathered solemnly. Some wiped away tears, others stood with stoic expressions, their presence a testament to the complicated, shared history we all had with my father.

At pagkatapos, mula roon sa gilid malapit sa kanila, nakita ko si Cam kasama ang pamilya niya. He stood with a solemn expression, his eyes meeting mine with a mixture of concern and silent strength. Cam had always been able to read me without words, and today was no different. His gaze told me he understood how hollow I felt, how exhaustion had wrapped itself around my bones.

The priest's voice, reciting prayers, felt distant and muffled, like I was underwater.

Ang mga luha ko ay ubos na, natuyo mula sa mga araw ng pag-iyak at mga gabing walang tulog. Ang ulo ko ay parang mabigat, at ramdam ko ang pangangalay sa aking mga binti, ang pagod ng pagtayo nang matagal.

When the time came for the final prayer and the sound of dirt hitting the casket echoed through the quiet, I felt my stomach clench. My mother let out a soft sob, and instinctively, I put my arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. It felt strange to be the one providing comfort when I felt so lost myself.

"Goodbye, Daddy," bulong ko sa aking sarili, nanginginig ang boses habang lumalapit ako upang ilagay ang isang puting rosas sa kabaong. My fingertips brushed against the petals, and for a brief moment, I felt like I was reaching out for something I could never hold again. The finality of it was suffocating.