May 6, 2012 at 7:41pm
Those who are special, they never go away. They walk beside you everyday, unseen and unheard; still near, still special, still missed and still very dear.
I have never met him in his lifetime but I felt like I knew him all along. He was promoted to glory on a date same as today’s (6th May) and on a day like today’s (Sunday). I’d like to think that the moon shone brightly like it did tonight and stars watch over him as the Ancient of days finally decided to take his pain away for all eternity. And even though I’d like to think of myself as his reincarnation, I immediately thought that impossible in all manner of consideration because I was born the same year as he was; just two different happy couples relishing over their new born dream. But then, I’d like to think of him as my spiritual bother simply born to different parents. Even so, I am not ashamed to admit that I am not and will never be as special as he was in all aspect of word, thought and deed.
Gifted would be just one of the many characters he exhibited during his short but blessed life here on earth. He was nothing short of an artist, be it with a pencil or pen. His written thoughts ever treasured by the ones who missed him most. I take pride in sharing with his writing skills and finding meaning in the songs that we’d listen to. Every aspect of life, even the simplest of word, deed or thought has meaning and beautiful ones too. Talented is another I can think of, not in any other sense but talented in loving dear ones, talented in building relationships, talented in giving happiness, talented in loving his God; altogether very, very special.
I daresay he had had his moments of weakness in life as a thickheaded, perplexingly stubborn teenager. But why should I consider one minor wrong turn he made when all I can do is cherish the rest 99% of impeccable memory? Could have anyone been so caring? Never running out of beautiful words like ‘I love you’ and ‘Thank you’ wherever he go, never exhausted of words like ‘I am sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’ when he’d commit minor mistakes. Could anyone be so possibly graceful?
I guess it’s true what songwriters wrote out ‘The good ones die young’. He is one prominent testament for my ever bold proclamation that ‘we all live the lifetime we are meant to’. He may have been gone for six years now but he is more than alive in all the painful sense in the hearts of the ones he meant most. I daresay he is much more alive than most of us who kept to ourselves, oblivious to the world and the world to us. He is still touching hearts, still changing lives, still giving joy and still bringing tears six years after his corporeal existence.
I think of the last few month of his time here on earth, and it breaks my heart. Diseased with a viral infection, the medical side of me partly wanders to the possible symptoms–the pain he would have had suffered. He was alone, taking care of the kind of people he once used to be, loving them in all their being–their best and worst part. He was there for the children of the God he loves, but no such child was there for him. His ill and suffering days, when for so many nights he’d have gone to bed in a lot of pain, all alone, aches me to even think of! I can almost see him struggling with the meagre amount of energy he had left, as each day his illness drains the life-force out of him, making him go pale and hurting. He must have remembered that he had a mother and a sister in the medical profession who could have taken care of him the best way imaginable, and must have missed them so badly. Sometimes I even reckon he’d cry in bed albeit quietly, but then I’d chuck the thought away because I want to think of him as a strong person.
I don’t even know how to start thinking about his last week. You see, he didn’t even get to spend much time in the hospital, he was pronounce deceased soon after. I can only imagine how much he’d suffer without getting any care. Once again, my medical background gives me thoughts like high fever, chills and rigor, convulsions, altered sensorium, delirium, hallucinations; and it gave me no peace at all! Would he have embarrassed himself in his subconscious suffering? I could never picture him messed-up, or screaming in pain, or uttering nonsense. How would he have looked just before he died? I don’t know, but I do know that he need not have struggled to death; he was going home, home to his eternal Father.
Even then, like all of us locked up in a decaying body sustained by the life-force of our soul, it pains to have to think that his face could not have been as beautiful as it originally was, his body cold and stiff. No more warm smile, no more pleasant vibe, his soul left his body. No more warm ‘hellos’ to greet his friends who came to have one last glance of this prince. Everything has come to a standstill. The clock once again seemed to tick away so slowly and yet so fast. It felt like time has slowed down to prolong the pain of mourning this prince, yet it felt like time was not enough to hold him even for just one long last time.
The mother who once rejoiced over her special and an only begotten son now wept bitterly with a heart broken beyond comprehension. She thought to herself, and she cannot think straight; so she cried ‘My son, my son, my love’. She remembered the many patients she’d nurse to health, and she is broken because she did not even get to nurse her own son, her own flesh and blood even just for a night. She is hurt, she is angry, she is frustrated, she felt hopeless, and she felt helpless. She wants to scream, tears are too pitiful, unfit to mourn her prince. She is in agony, she is devastated, she is desperate; she is mourning.
A loving sister deemed useless of her healing talents as she now observe he only brother, finding herself beside his dead body. She finds it too hard, too much. This cannot be! If she could just take back all the hard work she did to every other patient and exchanged it for but just a night to hold her brother in his dying bed. But nothing can make it better, nothing heals, nothing helps and nothing counts.
Have I told you, that he is beautiful? He has an aura about him that move mountains, and I can tell you this even though I have never met or seen him. He is the same kind of person, that same kind of fussiness, perfectionism, emotional affection and compassion. The last time I went to his place I saw his picture, he is handsome too. There was this nephew of his, a splitting image of his now departed uncle, and I thought to myself, if only he could see his adorable nephew how happy he’d be. And then it broke my heart to see two more kids, a niece and another nephew he would surely have loved beyond crazy, and then I just prayed quietly ‘God, I hope you’re making him see his beautiful nephews and niece’.
Six years then, and now the hearts of his family are suddenly renewed with sorrow and mourning. They say time is a panacea, that time heals, but truly time is not even that good a panacea for when all those years they have hoped the tears will slowly fade and remember only the good ones, it is but the good ones now that begets the tears in their eyes as if it were the very same day he passed away all over again.
..It’s not like you to walk away in the middle of a song
You’re beautiful song; you’re absolutely beautiful song…