14 May 2014
The very first time I attended a funeral, I was 30 years old. I suppose you could say I was kind of fortunate to have avoided an encounter with grief for so long, but I knew it was only a matter of time. The past year has been a crash course in loss and grief: a friend’s twin baby girls, my grandma, a close, dear colleague.
Today is Mei Ann‘s birthday; she would have been 33. I wasn’t able to attend her funeral, and maybe that’s why I occasionally have to remind/convince myself that she’s really gone. Her email address still pops up, her Facebook account is still there. Her number is still in my phone. But at least I’m not expecting her to text me and tell me what happened at her own funeral. Which, crazily enough, I did for about a week.
The thing about grief, as I’ve learned, is that it becomes easier to tap into the more you do it. And it is only when you lose someone you truly hold dear that words like ‘heaven’ and ‘resurrection’ really mean something.