Pausing for Milo

It was his brown, chocolate-shaded, powdery fur that earned him the name, Milo (yes, THAT chocolate drink!).  He just passed away this morning.  I'm a self-confessed pet un-lover, but I do make a few exceptions.  I believe it's Milo's cuddly looks and gentle disposition that reserved a soft spot in my heart for him.  Most mornings when I arrive in the station, he's there by the gate, either wagging his wee little tail (was that to greet me?) or running around to play with his mother (to make me envious?), the ever-energetic and we think crazy Pipiyu.

Milo had his same friendly stance yesterday morning when I arrived at the office gate.  I remember telling myself, "Oh, there's Milo!" (although I'm not sure if that statement will make any impact whatsoever).  It was the same ordinary day, we, carrying out our assigned stuff for the broadcast when I overheard my colleague say "basin na-poison sya."  I was a bit alarmed at the thought of someone being poisoned, and so they told me it was Milo.  He was already weakened.  But I also don't know if I felt relieved hearing that though.  He's outside our door, just lying down, his head resting on his two paws, and he's unable to move.  I didn't go to him because I didn't know what to do.  But I was surprised with my reaction:  I got sad.

I asked myself, why the sadness when you're not even a dog-lover?  (But Milo's a bit of an exemption, right?)  My personal argument didn't budge the feeling out though.  I felt melodramatic thinking about Milo, and how his hours are in fact counted.  He'll be dead in less than a day, I was so sure of it.  I wanted to cry for him, to hold him, to hug him, but I also felt weird because he's a puppy after all, although a cute one at that.  But I can't push the grieving feeling away.  And today, at past 9 in the morning, my colleagues declared him dead.  "Let's pause for a few minutes for Milo," one of them said, with the evident sadness in her voice.  I wanted to cry right then, but I held myself, because I thought it was illogical for me to do so.

Then it hit me!  I know why i'm so moved like this!

Milo's death reminded me so much of Tatay's.  It was quick.  He suffered for a time.  He groaned.  There was nothing we could do. We just waited for the hours to pass before he'd be declared dead.  It was a wait we didn't want to happen but did happen - an agonizing wait.  And finally, it.

I realized I'm not yet healed from that pain.  More than a year since he passed away, we moved on.  We continued with our routines.  We faced our remaining days.  We took up the challenges of fatherlessness.  We worked, laughed and lived.  But then, there are just really those stolen moments, unguarded times when I thought I've already accepted the loss.  I realized that I still haven't.  It's a deep, searing grief and weakening to realize that there was really nothing we could do.  I cannot wish for what's already happened. 

I don't want to say I want my Tatay back because I know it won't happen, not in this world, at least. But deep in the recesses of my heart, that need calls out the loudest, a call that will remain unheeded. 

So I take this pause, not only for Milo, but also for my Tatay.