Tuesday, July 25, 2006

Peaceful goodbyes.

A loud persistent knocking on my door woke me up at dawn this morning. When i opened my eyes, the knocking went away.

I lost an aunt to cancer last night. We all found out about her illness exactly a year ago. She was non-smoker, yet had a green thumb and the doctors pegged the disease was caused by insecticides. Stage 4, they said. She had a good six months.

A year after, we visited her in the hospital. At first, my family wouldn't let me go, cause i had weak lungs since i was little, had been nursing a cough most of July and she had pneumonia complicating her situation. But last rainy Sunday, i went to see her, blessed with so much more time, i knew her day to meet her Maker was coming, and i want to say my goodbyes.

I hate the Lysol smell of hospitals, maybe because i was a suki when i was younger. But having gotten older, i had a few other reasons to hate it even more. One doesn't necessarily go to hospitals at the happiest times of their lives. And they suck the lives out of people, patients and visitors alike. Picture Azkaban, only antiseptic white. People don't really like going there, but they had to.

I visited her the day after they took her out from the ICU. She had tubes running all over the place, machines hooked up everywhere. Her mind was still vibrant, even complaining how the air from the respirator was thinning out. She still stubborn, still refusing to trust the doctors, inside still worrying about the family she knew she was leaving behind. We had to assure her everything and everyone will be taken cared of. She should just rest and pray.

She went away quietly according to my Ate Madel, her only daughter. I pray it was peaceful too. Ate Pen, our cousin, said she was woken up by heavy knocking on her door the same time I did. The knocking went away too when she opened her eyes. I guess somebody was trying to say goodbye. We love you, Auntie Delia, you have our prayers. Be in peace.

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