Today, we celebrate the forty days since you have left us.

It might be weird for most to hear that people celebrate someone’s passing. But all we are celebrating is the depth of our gratitude that you are no longer in pain, and our belief that after today, you will finally be free to join the Great Beyond.

In truth, I feel like it would be difficult for me to celebrate anything after you. My birthday this year felt more like an afterthought, an event to appease the social mores that life should be celebrated, even if it had only been a couple of days since you passed. It’s not that I no longer feel any joy; I do. But I always feel like there is something missing. And while I know that things will eventually be better, I am also aware that there will always be days when I will be reminded of you. We will celebrate our anniversary just a mere month from now. There’s your birthday in October, and then All Soul’s after that, then Christmas and New Year’s Eve. I already know that these days will be particularly poignant, and I don’t know if I can really prepare myself for them.

When I was in high school, they taught us about the five stages of grief. It is a useful mnemonic: DABDA, or Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance. The funny thing was, I don’t remember even going through these in order. I’ve always been a pretty logical person, and I like to rationalize even my own feelings. I know wallowing in misery over your loss is not useful, and I guess that is the reason why even if it hurts so much, people say that I handled your loss better than most.

I wouldn’t take all credit, though. People all around have helped me get through this difficult time. Friends from years back that I don’t even talk to who reached out either to donate or just give a comforting word; family who stepped up when it mattered the most; my closest circle who I think felt the pain even more than I did. I am overwhelmed with blessings, ironically, even if I have lost the most important person in my life. In my mind, how can I complain, when there are people out there who are in even more grief? The mere fact that I am here writing this is not only a celebration of love, but also in itself by no means a miracle.

I believe that when things that we can’t explain happen, we will still gain wisdom from it one day when we least expect it. When I met you, I already knew that I have met the love of my life. When I lost you, I didn’t know at first why. What is the message here, I asked? And then the wisdom came -- I know you prayed for me. I know that God brought me to you to hold your hand in the last ten months of your earthly life. But then, I asked, why did He bring you to me? Why did He allow me to bear the cross of your loss?

The last forty days have been a whirlwind for me, anxious about the time when that wisdom will finally reveal itself. And just this morning, while we were preparing to send you off to your final resting place, the wisdom finally came.

You see, my love, you were a born teacher, even if you never had the opportunity to become one in this life. You have lived your life so bravely, so authentically, even if people disagreed with your choices. You never judged people who came to you: the sick, the sinful, the morally wicked -- you all taught them and gave them advice, a piece of wisdom that you have gathered from living your own experiences.

I have to say that I am one of those who were blessed with the gift of you. Before you, I didn’t care nor respect anyone’s beliefs. But now, I learned that believing in something shows more courage than believing in nothing at all. You taught me how to choose happiness, even if it means that people won’t understand. Above all, you taught me how to love unconditionally. You see, some people thought I was insane when I told them I already knew you were sick from the very beginning. Why? They asked. I could have prevented all this hurt. But loving you meant that I loved all of you, and in a way, that means accepting that I will lose you much sooner than later. And I did accept that with open arms. I guess that is why this grief, while devastating, felt familiar. I have been holding it, cultivating it as early as then, waiting for its rightful time to bloom.

What I didn’t expect was how, even in your death, you will still give me wisdom that I can use in my own earthly life. Your passing has taught me the power of forgiveness, that even the deepest wounds caused by our previous actions can be soothed with love. You have shown me how to live with purpose. You have taught me that death cannot destroy love, and while I accept that I will never see you again, your memories will be enough to give me comfort. So how can I say goodbye to you, when you are not really gone?

I remember the last time I saw you. How I lightly kissed your forehead and held your hand for the last time. “We will be home soon,” I lied. “Go,” you said. You were calm, even if you probably knew that that would be the last time we would see each other. You already knew that you would not come home, but you were at peace with that. You have accepted your own mortality with open arms. But above all, you have accepted that you will have to let go of the person you loved the most. And that was the most beautiful gift you gave me, my love. The gift of acceptance.

Still, let not this be a goodbye, my love. Let this be a thank you. Thank you for your life and our time together, no matter how short they were. Thank you for the memories I will cherish for the rest of my life. Thank you for bringing together the people you love to celebrate your memory. But above all, thank you for showing me that there will be a time when I can finally let you go.

I will always love you. Watch over us. Until we meet again.

J