Framing Absence, Finding Presence

Every time I start to write, the tears come. I’ve made it a habit to keep a pack of tissues in my bag because my eyes well up without warning. Sometimes, it’s a memory of Ate Marica—flashing her biggest smile and greeting me in her cheerful tone, “Hi, Stells!” Other times, a lyric from a song she loved drifts into my mind, sending a river of tears streaming down my face.

I find myself lying in bed in the early morning hours, staring at the ceiling, only to realize my shirt is drenched. Crumpled tissues fill my pockets, or I absentmindedly set them down in little heaps on the coffee or dining table at Malyn’s apartment, where I kept her company after Marina left for New York. Of course, the OC in her reminded me in a gentle and empathetic tone to throw them away once I had calmed down.

I digress.

A short trip to Lipa after the funeral was a welcome reprieve. Crisp, clean air, lush greenery, and a villa with a pool provided the change of scenery we badly needed after several weeks cooped up in air-conditioned rooms between home and the hospital. Fresh produce from the farm, cooked vegan and gluten-free, was a rare and precious treat for me.

I brought Ate Marica’s photograph and placed it in the dining room, keeping our promise that she would always be with us whenever we gathered. In the evening, when Malyn worked remotely, I moved the photo to her desk—so they could keep each other company.

Before Ate Marica passed, we asked that if she ever visited us from the spiritual realm, she do so in a pleasant way—perhaps as a butterfly or through the scent of coffee or whiskey in the air. She managed to laugh at our request.

True enough, while we were lounging in the pool, a yellow butterfly appeared. It fluttered between Malyn and our cousin Rachelle before gliding toward the glass sliding door just as I opened it. Smiling, we waved with all the love in our hearts. “Hi, Ate Marica!” we greeted her, feeling a deep sense of comfort.

On our last day, a happily chirping yellow bird was perched on the second-floor patio. It lingered for a while, as if watching over us, before flying away. Once again, we laughed and waved, feeling her presence.

Later, I read that in many cultures, yellow butterflies symbolize hope, transformation, and renewal. Their vibrant color is often associated with joy, positivity, and the presence of a loved one who has passed. Some believe that encountering a yellow butterfly is a sign from the spirit world, offering comfort and reassurance that a loved one is at peace. The same is true of yellow birds.

I only took a few photographs. The ones I chose mirror the co-existence of melancholy and hope within me. Whether landscapes, architecture, or still lifes, they bear witness to this moment of grief. The stories are told in the light and shadow.

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