Hello, Tatay Atong.

As of writing, it has been one year, three months, and nineteen days since you left.

How's the afterlife treating you so far?

I wonder how you look like in your perfect form. How young do you look like now, Tay? Is it true that the clothing you last wore are your ghost clothes? I hope not. You should look more handsome, Tay. And I really wish you can change clothes there, because I know how much you liked to look dapper in your long sleeves, a necktie, and a well-shined pair of shoes.

I know, as someone who took his religion seriously, you must have now been sharing your spiritual beliefs there and made that your mission in the afterlife. While you were still here, you loved sharing with people the answers to some of the existential questions that hound us, such as: where did we come from? Why are we here? Where are we going in the afterlife? I do not claim to be a hundred percent certain that our beliefs are true, but the way you lived your life created that blueprint of an answer for the second question.

It would be fun if, in the afterlife, you can still talk about the things that made you who you were here.

I’d like to imagine there are still legal problems up there. Troubled souls who still consult with you their problems that they might have left behind. Loans unpaid, unstable income of their bereaved families, or it could be as gory as unresolved crimes that halted their lives prematurely. It could also be the fulfilling side of the legal profession. Perhaps you are now reunited with departed clients and acquaintances whom you have helped in a way or two, and I am guessing it is a joyful reunion.

Do you still teach up there? Of course, there are no more cards to shuffle. Ha! You can’t terrorize law students now. But just so you know, the same students whom you have taught do not talk about you with bitterness here. Even if some were grilled for hours, and worst, even made to get out of the class. No, they talk about you with loving fondness, and remember your life lessons, perhaps more than they remember your lessons in Constitutional Law.  Because of you, they finished the course; they kept the faith.

Looking back, you were my professor for one semester in law school. And I was not spared of your frightening remarks like me getting a kwatro for an unread case. But boy, did I learn. And I wish I took advantage of your legal prowess more than I did, because now I miss the private lectures for other subjects that you used to render for me and Noy.

But that is how I imagine you spending your days in the afterlife. The church bishop. The legal luminary. The passionate teacher. The doting father. And the rest of the roles you undertook in your short sojourn. I hope you are not reduced into an angel blowing his trumpet, welcoming newly arrived ghost residents. I would like to think about the afterlife that way; that it is as colorful, as interesting, as diverse as it is here on earth, but only in a glorified and pure state.

How you must have loved being free from all the bodily ailments that used to hound you. The need for an oxygen support whenever you drive, or in between hearings, and even amidst church activities and law school classes. The struggle to sleep at night while sitting down, while we lie down comfortably on our beds. The restrictions on your diet. The frequent visits at the hospital that you get to turn in your favor by befriending the nurses. You loved talking to them very much that we would just be surprised – by their next rounds – you would already ask about their moms and dads and their dreams in life. And in turn, they would smile and open up. No wonder it is not just your biological children who call you Tatay.

I know you are not supposed to feel any pain there anymore. And I am happy that the physical aspect of that is now resolved. But would you take it against me, if I would take comfort from a little emotional discomfort from you? It's nothing much. I just want you to miss us, too.

Tay, there is still so much grief bottled up inside my chest that it comes out in unlikely forms. Sometimes, I get to make something wonderful out of it. Like this letter, however imperfect – it speaks the language of my soul. 

More often than not, however, it cripples me. I do not have the energy to do things I used to do with ease. And despite this restlessness, I could not stay put in one place, either. I have become a nomad. But I should not be. The home you built with Nanay should not be that easy to shake. And yet, I would find my subconscious wander away from here.

But I promise I will not wander too far, Tay. As long as you promise to watch over us and miss us from time to time, too. Cry a bit and then give us some good ghost spanking whenever we would do stupid things. And then ghost hug and kiss us whenever we would have a job well done. 

It has been one year, three months, and nineteen days since you left. Years, months, and days will pass without you in this lifetime.

It will get easier in time. But for now, let me write away this grief, this longing for you.

Be good in heaven. I miss you.

Love,

Es Es