IT CAME out as a whisper, followed by a muted reaction.
“Shad…” A brief pause.
“He’s dead.”
Rose* sat frozen, unable to properly comprehend what had been revealed. Her thoughts began to scatter as she tried to grasp onto the remaining image of his broad, uniformed back. Rose could feel the rush draining from her face as Anne, her best friend and Shad’s sister, struggled to look at her.
Shad*, Rose’s first boyfriend, was a soldier in the military.
Her distant memories of him shattered as Anne* hesitantly described him charging at the enemy base and attacking the head guard. Rose tried to envision him going into that last mission in a distant land, armed with that firm frown of his, his hands tightly gripped on his weapon.
With his name marked under “missing-in-action,” a month would then elapse with his status still unchanged.
Rose found out about his passing when she went home for Undas break in 2023. Most students like her, who, at the time, was a sophomore, took this break to rest and reconnect with loved ones.
In her bedroom, Rose and Anne sat. Since they went to different universities, there was much to catch up on, most of which could not be said through online messaging alone.
By that time, Rose and Shad had already broken up. She had spent her time navigating through the rigorous demands of her program, Creative Writing, at UST.
The animated nature of her blockmates was a sea to immerse herself in, and she found new love in one of them. To reveal the committed relationship she was now in, Rose set up a game of hangman to play with Anne.
When the hangman blanks spelled, “KAMI NA (We’re together now),” a subtle breath left Anne, then her eyebrows furrowed before her lips settled into a soft smile.
That was when Anne revealed the news — that Shad would never come back.
“It did not sink in like I wish it would,” Rose told The Flame.
It had been a year and 10 months after their separation. Unfinished conversations were left behind, stuck in the distance between them.
“I felt mixed emotions of sadness, and I was cross about not being able to communicate our split,” she said.
The realization then hit that they will forever be unable to do so now.
Rose was left at a crossroads, unable to figure out where to step forward — or if she could take a step forward in the first place.
The young lovers
“He was quiet and only playful around me,” Rose recalled.
It was May 2017. Anne and Rose, each in their homes, were on a call together. For a moment, Anne left her phone to attend to some chores. The other went on to rant about a boy she had been seeing, thinking her friend was still there listening along.
That was when an unfamiliar voice replied, pitching in his own thoughts about her situation. It was Shad. That conversation became an unofficial get-to-know meeting.
Before then, Anne barely mentioned her brother, who was three years older than them.
“Most of his family and friends knew him as a sort of ‘grump,’ but this wasn’t my first impression. He entertained my questions when we first met,” Rose said.
From Rose’s hearty tirades to Shad’s favorite television series, Sonic Boom, talking came easily. Rose’s curious prodding brought out his playful responses.
“He was a much more serious person,” Rose said. “I had a bright outlook on life and was the more expressive one.”
In August 2017, the two of them made it official. Their long-distance relationship began: Rose in the Philippines and Shad in the countries where he would be stationed.
“We always missed each other,” Rose said.
Their frequent conversations through phone calls and occasional in-person meetings — whenever Shad came back to the Philippines — blossomed into a four-year relationship.
Among Rose’s fondest memories throughout the years would be Shad sliding down her school’s stairway railing to suddenly hug her from behind.
“I liked his surprise visits and hugs. I liked how he called me ‘Rose’ and reminded me not to skip my meals,” Rose said in her memoir that she shared with The Flame.
For the live performances she did for her English courses, Shad made an effort to show up for her when he could.
“He was always there to watch and support me in school, even if it was only ten minutes before he’d go.”
Spaces in between
Whenever Shad was back serving in the military, his absence was as apparent as his presence.
The times they met outside of a call “could only be counted with two hands,” as Rose put it. Even then, calls were also sparse, as his missions rendered him inaccessible from time to time.
Sometimes, she would have to hear from their mutual friends or Anne about his promotions. A part of her felt down at being the last to know. Longing became the common ground.
“I clung onto his letters that always promised his mighty return from the battlefield or the places he was dispatched,” Rose said.
On the occasions that a letter would arrive, they would exchange updates about their lives. Shad would tell her about his training as a soldier, and Rose would respond either about her studies or her friends. During it all, she counted down the days until Shad could go home.
“Our long-distance relationship was diminished to letters, promises of return and surprise visits,” Rose said.
But their lives became busy, and schedules continued to conflict. The fast-paced promotions of his roles in the military demanded what little time they had for each other.
The number of letters began to dwindle after their second year of dating. As Rose wrote her replies, she would channel her repressed frustrations in a separate sheet. She did not dare send those.
“[It’s not] sure when he’ll return,” Rose said, “and I felt quite isolated when he relied on his friends telling me his return will be delayed.”
Eventually, letters no longer came entirely.
‘Left hanging’
Her countdown to his return slowly morphed into the nearing of their split. In May 2021, they mutually decided to end their relationship. They planned it to be on January 13 of the next year.
“We did not want to break up,” Rose said. “Yet, it was the decision of where he works that led to the break-up.”
Before that date comes, they chose to spend the remainder of their time together with calls, movies and games. One night, a week before the scheduled break-up, they played a few hours of Genshin Impact, an online video game.
“I was no gamer, but it was the closest I had ever been to him,” Rose said.
It was when the sun began to set in their virtual reality that Shad suddenly got called in for work.
Before he logged out, Rose uttered, “Next time ulit (Next time again).”
But Shad did not show up after that, not even on the day of the supposed break-up. As the radio silence went on, what was implied became clear.
“I knew it was all over, but it was a goodbye that did not end.”
Instances of communication did happen between them, but they were brief. They were too momentary to properly talk about the way things ended.
“Less than ten minutes and he went off,” Rose said.
The two eventually agreed to stay friends, letting time create space between their decision to part ways and the individual paths they took for themselves. The traces of her former lover slowly drifted away from her life, until he completely disappeared into the background.
“I felt like I was left hanging with no answers.”
Ghosts that linger
Following the breakup, Rose was in the process of starting anew.
At first, grieving the end of four years compelled her to believe that the best way to move forward was to care less — or pretend to.
“After our relationship, I was the untouchable one. I was more detached,” Rose said.
Conflicting feelings arose — anger, confusion and respect for his persistence in his chosen battles.
But as time moved on, so did Rose. Within the walls of her classroom, she met a boy. With him, conversations flowed effortlessly across a range of topics, weaving through shared walks across campus as the pair spent their days in school together.
Rose had learned to love again.
But when Shad’s death happened, the regret began to creep in.
The unsent letters, her detachment, his passion for his job: All that time spent apart could have been time spent trying to patch things up for a window of closure, she thought. For a lighter step forward.
“It was too soon, you know,” she said.
“What I really felt then was, Mawawala ka na lang ba na hindi tayo nakapag-usap ng maayos? (Are you really just going to disappear without us talking things through properly?)”
There came times when the words climbed up her throat as if there were some things left to say, but no one to say them to.
In “The Year of Magical Thinking,” the American writer and journalist Joan Didion went through a similar experience.
In Didion’s memoir, she wrote about her journey with grief following her husband’s sudden death from a heart attack. According to her, his passing never erased her urge to talk and share events with him. Instead, the emptiness of not being able to receive a response was made palpable.
“There have been a few occasions on which I asked John point blank what to do,” she wrote.
“I said I needed his help. I said I could not do this alone. I said these things out loud, actually vocalized the words. Yet on each occasion these pleas for his presence served only to reinforce my awareness of the final silence that separated us.”
Didion quoted the British writer C.S. Lewis, who, after the death of his wife, wrote: “I think I am beginning to understand why grief feels like suspense.”
Rose wrote letters to Shad’s name. It was only for consolation. Sometimes while drafting her messages, the idea of him came to her like a living prompt about the absence of closure.
Her letters began to be written periodically, as that closure she sought never arrived. She knew that this whole situation was irreconcilable.
Rose noticed its influence on her new relationship.
“For those who have witnessed it, they knew how messy this was,” Rose said.
“Welcoming new love gave me mixed feelings because I wanted it to feel right,” Rose said. “It does, but I was chained to the past, to the ‘loyalty’ I must be keeping. It was my conscience.”
The past and the promises the two had made to each other were weighing on Rose’s chest. She did not know how to deal with them.
“I had no closure then, so I was persisting in keeping my ‘love’ for my former lover.”
She had all this guilt for wanting, shaped by the ghost of a man she once knew.
Whenever you are ready
A year after she learned of Shad’s passing, Rose was messaged by Anne out of the blue. A soft copy file of a letter was attached. Her best friend explained that she received it through e-mail. It turned out to have been Shad’s deployment letters — prepared for his loved ones in the case of his death.
This letter had been addressed to Rose.
Chills ran down her spine at the idea of a new letter from Shad, after all these years. With tentative clicks, she opened the file.
Her eyes traced over the numbers that said 2018, a year into their relationship.
“My Rose,” the start of the letter read, written by a much younger Shad.
A breath got stuck in her throat at the sight of the salutation. It had been a while since she had been addressed by him. She braced herself, scrolling through the message slowly.
In the letter, Shad poured his wishes for her to move on from him.
Rose took in each word like a sharp intake of air. He had wanted Rose to find someone new — someone different from him, who could give the time and presence she deserved.
“Move on from me, you don’t need my permission at all,” were Shad’s words. “Nor do you have to feel guilty about it.”
Shad said everything she longed to hear. Rose expected tears to fall, but instead, the guilt that riddled her left her in a state of relief. She closed the tab, a growing lightness on her shoulders.
When it came to Didion, her grief had not settled until the day she read her husband’s autopsy report. Even then, the grief did not completely leave her, but she began to accept the fact that there was nothing she or her husband could have done to prevent it from happening.
For Rose, she found herself trusting in time since reading Shad’s letter. She now allows herself to loosen up and be ready to welcome new opportunities.
“The best time to move on is when you are ready,” Rose encouraged.
In the absence of direct closure, Rose wrote her experience with attaining closure from the deployment letter in a memoir for her Nonfiction Workshop class. It had become her final words about it. A casualness lifted her voice as she spoke about her piece.
“I am sure that if your late lover truly loved you, they would have wanted you to be happy,” Rose said.
“They would wish that the life you are earning and working hard for will treat you well, despite the harsh realities in this world.”
Rose looks back at her former lover as something that was a part of her and shapes her into what she continues to be.
“Love should be a reminder that you have to keep going on, and it’s not for her or him, but take a step for you,” she said.
“The moment you lose, there’s just more room to be impassioned and to gain.”
Rose is now 21 years old, a junior in her program. She and her current boyfriend have been together for more than a year now.
“He brought back the appetite in the things I always dedicated myself for,” she said in her memoir, reflecting on their relationship.
When asked about how she had been feeling lately, she fondly mused on her ardent love, and every birthday, anniversary, Paskuhan fireworks show, and all the hardships that can be celebrated that come along with it.
“Love will find you when you least expect it,” she said. F – Lauren Ainella Tagle
*Editor’s note: The names of the subjects were changed at Rose’s request to protect their privacy.
