Planks on the shore

I was trying to paint a picture to the journey of grieve I'm feeling for the passing of my Papa.
And this picture came to my mind.

Imagine a nice sandy beach with daily penatration of bright sunlight reflecting the calm seawater. A simple wooden jetty that leads out to a few nice wooden boats. Some new, some old but all in good working condition. Everything is calm and peaceful. Like the sandy beach, I embrace the warmth of the sunlight, the pleasent view of the boats docked at the jetty.

Suddenly, one day, without any warning, one of the boats collapsed into a million pieces. It was rotting from the inside, it was so unnoticable. There wasnt any time to say goodbye or to do repair works.

These million pieces of wood, which used to be part of the beautiful, peaceful picture is now scattered throughout my sandy shores. I try to embrace each and every piece of them, protect them from being taken away by the rising tides and the waves crashing onto them. There were simply too many piece, they keep sliding out of the "hands" of the sandy shores.

(this part of the picture was how I felt back in June, when the sudden news of Papa's passing came in the middle of the night. Everything happened so fast, I was in such a blur state of mind. I could only try as hard as I humanly can to embrace the memories, salvage the situation without a clue of what's to come ahead. I was overwhelmed)

In the dark night, heavy rain poured onto the shores, draining the sandy shore of every bit of its energy to prevent the wooden planks from leaving its shores. The heavy rain not only washed out the wooden reminds of the boat, but also stripped the sandy shores of its ability to protect a family, the sense of helplessness is overwhelming. The sand is no longer shiny with energy, instead its dull and lifeless.

(this scene describes the emotional struggle to pull myself together, in the final journey of sending Papa off during his funeral. I cannot believe that the same man lying in the coffin was the man seated next to me on the sofa just a week ago. It felt like yesterday when he was talking to me, telling me that he uses sine and cosine at work (while i was trying to finish my sec school math homework), felt like he just smiled at the yummy Haagen Daz ice cream. How can he be lifeless now, lying in the box with a glass cover. I wanted so much to wake him up, to tell him all the things I had to say. But I know that that is never going to happen. Worse, after the last day of his wake, he'll be cremated, it will be the last time I get to see Papa, in his body. Thereafter, he'll be just be "resting" in a tiny box. How can anyone not be sad and angry?

As the tides come and go, the wooden pieces get brought out further and further into the sea, till they are out of the sandy shores's sight. The picture looked so different now without the lovely old boat at the jetty, there was so much to say about the empty space left behind. With each piece of wooded that drifts in and out with the tide, a reminder of the former glory to the beautiful, calm shore came to mind. But it will never be the same again.

(as time passes, the realities that Papa will never return again sets in. There was nothing, simply nothing I could have done to prevent him from leaving us forever. Yes, I feel sad whenever that thought comes to mind. Like the sandy shore missing her lovely old boat, I miss my Papa. With each "piece of wood that drifts with the tides", I am reminded of Papa's passing, absence in our presence. The intensity of sadness gradually reduces, replaced gradually by acceptance.

I dunno how long it'll take to fully get over my grieve, but like the sandy shore, each time a plank of wood gets drifted onto her shores, she'll be reminded of that lovely old boat that used to be in the jetty.)

jen family