Missing Ompong

This year marks my husband's seventh year of passing on to be with our Creator, leaving me three lovable and God-fearing children.

For the past years, I have struggled with giving him up and accepting a "single' status. I have always felt married to him. In fact I still carry his last name: Angeles.

He has always been alive in my dreams; we talked and goofed around, doing the same fun things when he was alive...but my dream suddenly crumbles when my mind knocks me off with reality. There was a time that I hugged his part of the bed only to realize it was empty.

In times when I fixed our files, I'd say, "Ah, I will ask Ompong where he filed this document..." because he was the organized one and I was the spontaneous.

During a full moon where we used to go out of our room's view deck, I miss holding his hand, wrapped up in his arms while looking at the big, round, shining moon. I miss telling him that his bald head looked like the moon! And he'd just kissed me "shhh...you are my star". Actually my little girl was his star, daddy's little girl. My eldest son was our family's "Sun" shine, and my youngest jolly son, as our "Rainbow" -- and me? I am Mother Earth -- where everyone of them revolves around -- as my husband quipped.