XVI. Time heals wounds
Our childhood is the best time to got stuck with. I love it when we play cars, dolls, and video games. We played, not looking forward to puberty and adulthood. We didn't. We grew up with toys in our hands and nothing else in mind but playtime.
We attended the same school. We breathed the same air. We lived almost in the same house. We were cousins. Buddies. We were a lifetime bestfriends.
I enjoyed having trips to Manila where all of you, having this shiny bald head and wearing almost the same face mask, were gathered regularly for some treatment. I didn't know that it was a hospital before. I enjoyed drawing and coloring with you and other kids not minding every kids' hidden feelings.
You're drinking a lot of meds prescribed by your doctor. I don't know what's that for. I can remember the time when I emptied a bottle of tablets into the toilet bowl secretly. Your mother was furious that time because those pills were only available in Manila. She scolded me to hell. They concluded that I actually did that because I pity you for taking bitter tablets everyday.
I missed that sterling notebook with a Pikachu print on its cover. My diary. I remembered that I jotted down a lot of things like how often you're at the hospital. Confined. That's what they told me. After school, I'd be there, eating the food served by the hospital you rejected.
I was afraid and confused when you started to be stuck on that wheelchair. You couldn't walk. By merely thinking about you, unable to walk and run like we used to, broke my heart. We were ten at that time. You were young but how did it happen? Not only that. Rushes on your skin, too. Sensitive skin? I can't know your condition. I was still young, innocent and ignorant.
April 18, 2009. Brown out. Summer day. You were strumming your guitar with a signature David's and a small picture of Growlithe painted by our grandfather. We were having a good time singing Don't Cry Joni and I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane. Those are easy pieces but we're only eleven for heaven's sake.
My father and your father carried you to the car. We're going to the hospital again. The white part of your eyes turned to yellowish and I don't know why. I kept on fanning you because of the warm weather and you insisted.
McDonald's cheeseburgers and fries were bought for us when we arrived in the room. Cheeseburger's your favorite but you weren't able to eat it. Seeing you on top of the hospital bed broke my heart for the nth time. It's painful seeing you dealing with needles and seeing you with catheter.
We prayed the holy rosary and in the middle of it, we noticed that deep breath. I watched your face for a while, your closed eyes, the tears escaping from your eyes. And I realized it was your last breath. I panicked. We panicked.
I cried unendingly and they even pulled me away from you when the doctor and the nurses hurried on your location. We were told to stay outside while they're still trying to revive you. But the cancer killed you.
"No truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. No truth, no sincerity, no strength, no kindness can cure that sorrow." But I know that time will heal it. I'm now 20 and still kicking without dolls, toy cars and video games.
Time really heals wounds.
