Today marks the 2nd anniversary of my cousin’s death. On the first anniversary, I kept myself busy and didn’t realize the date until it had already passed. This year I attempted to do the same until I saw my cousin’s (one of his sisters) post on social media and since then feigned ignorance was no longer an option; the date is now firmly etched in my brain.
So I paused, sat in my feelings, which is one of my least favorite things to do, and just let the grief take residence in my body instead of shoving it down the basement of my mind while I looked the other way and pretended it wasn’t there.
My default setting when it comes to feelings
There I was, sitting on my bedroom floor with my back against the wall and my head in my hands, just letting the sadness expand in my body as I let the memories flow over me.
My cousin always making a point to say, “Kamusta na?” (how are you) to me at every family gathering.
My cousin telling me, “Ok lang yan” (that’s ok) when I would tell him about stressful things in my life.
His love of cars. Dear God the amount of cars he had at his house!
The pink 1991 Honda Civic hatchback he had that my mom, brother, and I dubbed “Mrs. Panda” because I had named our white 1991 Honda Civic hatchback “Mr. Panda.”
His boisterous laugh.
His generosity, like the time he flew out our aunt and two cousins from the Philippines to the US so they can visit our relatives in the US and play tourist.
His hospitality, offering his house as a place for family gatherings even during times he had to work and couldn’t be there.
The fake, lighted, spinning Christmas tree he bought because it was an exact replica of the tree our grandmother has in the Philippines.
His laugh. His laugh was so joyous and infectious…and we will never hear it again…
Then my mind brought me to the night I found out…
I was in shock. It came out of nowhere. He was only 42 years old and in the months leading up to it he had started losing weight and seemed to be on the path towards a healthier lifestyle.
I didn’t cry that night, because I simply couldn’t believe it.
The next night was a different story…I had never felt a grief like that before and despite my amazing support system I just didn’t know how to reach out. I couldn’t sit with myself. I couldn’t be my own company but I also couldn’t be with my good friends who would be able to immediately see through my bullshit. I couldn’t call my family to talk about it because it was just so damn painful. I just felt too much and everything was just too, too overwhelming and I just…couldn’t deal with my grief.
And so what did I do?
I decided to go out, drink, and go to a silent disco party. Yes, you read that right. That is absolutely a thing and it happened to be going on that night.
There I was, drinking, swaying and dancing to the rhythm of my own beat, literally, since I had headphones on and couldn’t tell what everyone else was listening to – it was a fantastic time! I’m sure it looked absolutely ridiculous from the outside: a bunch of people dancing to different rhythms in a room that was silent but had flashing disco lights. But at the time it was exactly what I needed. I finally was able to let go and be in the moment, forgetting the terrible, terrible thing I had just found out.
And then, of course, he found me.
Suddenly, a guy was dancing with me. Yelling out, “Woot!” when I did and clapping when I did. Dancing to the same rhythm I was, swaying and twirling to match my steps.
“He must be listening to the same station I am!” grief-stricken, drunk, naive me thought.
We danced for some time then he offered to buy me a drink. I agreed, so we headed to the bar, took our headphones off, and stared bemusedly around the room with the flashing lights, sound of stomping feet, and the occasional, “Woot!” but no music. We both laughed and ordered our drinks.
Our conversation consisted of the usual small talk of how we heard about the event, what we did for a living, and other insignificant things one tends to talk about when talking to a stranger for the first time. But then he stopped, put his drink down, stared intently into my eyes and said,
“You know, I can tell you’re a strong woman who also knows how to have fun. But I can also see the sadness in your eyes.”
Damn if that didn’t make me feel seen! Looking back, I cannot believe a line like that actually worked on me, especially since he didn’t follow it up with any questions on why there was a “sadness in my eyes,” but in my defense, I was extremely grief-stricken.
With that one line (I’m cringing as I type this) he had me – hook, line, and sinker. So when he asked me out on a date for the following night, I gladly gave my number. The next night, we met at a restaurant for dinner and had what I would say a very average date. Not phenomenal, not terrible, more of a “eh.” I probably would have gone out with him again, just to give a shot, except that when I got home I got a series of text messages from him hinting that I may be “the one.”
I may have been grief-stricken, but not so much that I didn’t see that red flag. It was one date, no hug, no kiss, just dinner, so completely out of nowhere. This trend continued over the next few days with me slowly backing away and him responding by getting more and more aggressive in his text messages.
Then to add the cherry on top of the sundae, Binghamton being a small town I ran into friends of mine at breakfast the next morning after our date.
“So what’d you do last night? Anything fun?” one of my friends asked.
“Uuuhhh..nothing, you know, just the usual.” I responded.
“Really? You didn’t go out to say…one of the restaurants downtown?” He slyly asked.
You guessed it. Someone spotted me while I was on my date and to add to the small town thing, that person also recognized the guy I was on a date with from a party where that guy apparently got into a fight with a girl’s boyfriend because he was being inappropriate.
Did I mention I’ve got excellent taste in men?
And the moral of this story is, just go to your friends and family when you’re grieving. It is a much healthier and safer thing to do than to go out drinking, dancing, and giving your number out to strangers. Although the latter does leave you with a much more interesting story.
They sent me to Binghamton 