Had to stand in for mother for some godparent duty in church yesterday so I entered the chapel for the first time in YEARS. Took the opportunity to visit father's urn and when I saw it, guilt hit me almost instantly.

I remember when it first happened, I used to visit everyday. Then every week. Slowly, it morphed to every month and now, once in a few years. Are the dead forgotten so easily?

But dad hasn't been forgotten.

Standing in front of the urn, I kept thinking of how lonely dad might be, of how the place has changed, of how I haven't wiped the plate for a long time, of how mother would look like standing there praying, complaining, crying and asking for strength.

Guilt overload.

Anyways, it's really been a long time since I've been into church and I kept thinking back of the times we had to go for Catechism or Sunday classes. The church and especially those lessons were hardly a holy place for us lil' kids. Most of the time, I went to class only to see those hot St. Anthony chicks. Ha. That's where they hang out and parade.

So for that short 30 mins briefing yesterday, I couldn't help but take a peek around.

Looks like I haven't missed much all those years.