NOVEMBER 1

Its been almost two years since I last walked the graveyard where the physical body of my sister lies. Almost two years. Almost two years my career did hinder me a visit.

It was a refreshing day. The weather was warm. Thin clouds cover the sky and the wind blows cold. It even rains before we left the house. It was a perfect day for a visit. This year, my other sister's career made her unable to be with us since she was on duty that morning. So it was just me and my parents. We retraced the path of the graveyard with an emotion I know we all share but I couldn't name of. I walked behind them, watching as they took every careful steps that will lead us to her resting place. My mother holding my father's arm tight.

It was always with comfort to visit her during this season. The graveyard was packed with people. Families are gathered around tombs. Everyone was dresssed in gray or white clothes. Loud party music are prohibited. No burst of laughters can be heard. It is comforting to know that we are not the only one who lose someone dear to us. That death was fair in making each of us suffer because we are the ones left behind. I traveled the path to her tomb slowly. My mind drifted to the times I've been there. Head lifted and eyes looking forward to see that fuschia pink piece rectangular shaped stone. I suddenly become aware that I feel naked. As if everyone can see through me. As if everyone knows I lose my youngest sister five years ago. Five years ago, we were with relatives and friends. Five years ago, they still remember what we lose to that place and swore with us to never forget, to always remember that she too once lived with us. It was just five years. But it seems like we are the only one left to remember her. Six hours in that place and yet no one we knew came to visit her. Her friends stopped visiting us too, two years ago. Everyone felt like they've move on.

It is funny how I imagine her sitting with us during that day. Listening to me talking to our parents about relatives. Seeing how old our parents are now. My father enthusiastically repaints the letters of her name with gold acrylic. I imagine her hitting my father's head. Did she notice how our parents are now? Or how I look with my haircut? Did she felt too the way we learned to accept that we can never be whole again, not until the day we see her again? I imagine Bod too, a character from Neil Gaiman's The Graveyard Book. I imagine all the souls in that graveyard. I imagine how they must have felt being with the ones they love and seeing how time changes them. What must these souls feel like when they realized that time stopped changing them while their love ones grew old. White hair noticeable in every strand, their skin gets a little darker or whiter, small ones grew more height, even the way they talk change. Did all the souls in here felt a pang of pain too? Knowing they will never be able to tell the ones they love everything they want to? Not yet now. Maybe tomorrow.

Five years of not being with my youngest sister also changes me. The idea of dying doesn't seem to scare me for all these years. There is nothing to be afraid of. She will be waiting there on the other side. But the stories. I have to live for the moment so we will have many things to talk for eternity. This is what I realized under the sky beside her tomb. For you, my love, I will keep on living.