Lately, I keep waking up at the bewitching hour that is 3 in the morning. I don't know why. I just do. And when I do wake up, there's no turning back. Sleep doesn't come until the sun begins to rise.
Lo and behold, I woke up at 3am again last night. And after much tossing and turning, I succumbed to the racing thoughts in my head, got up, went to the living room and as if possessed, reached for the TV remote, turned the TV on and started channel surfing. There's nothing captivating at 3am. You kinda just zone in on a channel only to switch channels again in a minute or two. It went on like this for a good hour or two. I gave up at about 5-5:30 am, just when light was slowly creeping in through the blinds.
I climbed back to bed, and just laid there and got to thinking about my grandfather (my dad's dad), who is going to celebrate something on August 18. I can't seem to remember if it is his birthday or his death anniversary. I felt horrible at the thought that I can't even pinpoint which occasion it was, and said a little prayer saying sorry to my grandfather wherever he is.
Then I realized how little memory I have of him. When I think of Papa, I seem to remember it as if watching the 4 or 5 year old me having breakfast with him and my grandmother in their house, which is conveniently connected to our house. I remember being in their seemingly empty house while he and my grandmother were living in the US. The house was so quiet I could almost hear the ringing sound of silence in my ears.
I remember the day he passed away. We were supposed to wake up early for our trip to Montemar but we were all woken up earlier than expected when we heard our grandmother crying for help.
I remember watching my dad and my grandmother talking in my grandparents' dining room. My grandmother was clearly upset and sobbing uncontrollably. My dad was trying hard to hold back his tears, almost choking on the right consoling words to come out of his mouth.
Then I remember the wake. Somehow I remember it fondly. It was like a party every night. I was busy helping the maids give out food and drinks to the guests. There was an abundant amount of food and flowers everywhere. A couple of years later, I realize the gravity of the wake and felt guilty for remembering it fondly. I remember thinking to myself when I was 7 years old that I hope my grandfather didn't think I was happy because he was gone.
So last night I was remembering all of this, trying real hard to find more memories of him and realized, is that all? That's it? I started to cry. I realize that if not for pictures of him, I don't think I would remember his face. How about his voice? What did he sound like? What was he like? I heard stories of him from my dad, how he was a stern man, adamant about disciplining his children. He was a real ladies man, according to my grandmother. He makes my grandmother blush even now. Whenever she talks about him, she blushes a little and she gives out a giggle.
The only tangible memory I have of my grandfather is my grandmother's wallet. To this day, she still uses his wallet. It's old and has this distinctive smell of leather and my grandmother's toxic perfumes. I secretly want to inherit it and keep it with me forever.
I don't know when or how I fell back to sleep. I just know that last night I remembered my grandfather and I really wished I got to spend more time with him.
