The days have kind of melded into each other. Not so long ago, we were up there — 11,000 feet, to be precise — listening to the sweet tongue of the high mountain folk. A few days before that was the last time we were all together, laughing, smiling and making the best of the time together that, strangely, was caused by physical discomfort.
There are so many smidgens of conversations. So many shards of memories gathered over four-years. One of my fondest memories of him was him being utterly frightened by the prospect of his daughter being married to me, while looking out into the hard rain that was falling that day. The months passed and all that uncertainty became another of the many things that passed.
It is past midnight now and the waiting room of the ICU of a hospital is not the best place to write anything at all. I do not remember the exact number of days I have slept here. Whatever that time may be, in that time one person passed away, the handful of others who were unfortunate enough to visit it were fortunate enough to get better, and be moved back to the normal wards.
He is not gone yet. His body is recovering well, but the mind is mostly a blank. He is there somewhere out there, still. But, every day we lose a bit more hope of him finding his way back to us. Physically, he is about 30-meters away from where I sit now. But he is away, somewhere far far away.
Even as the logical mind argues that these are matters far outside my hands, the illogical mind is regularly lashed with the thoughts of losing people who are under my watch. I should have put my foot down. I should have provided the care that may have made the difference. I do not know.
I would absolutely love to see him getting mad at me for having put him through all this; and having dodged yet another bullet. This would have been the third one after a cancer diagnosis 3-years-ago.
What a story it would have made, to discuss over one of our poking-fun-at-each-other sessions to, that having his heart stopped for nearly 10-minutes, his body still came back enough to have kept on recovering even at this late stage where the is nearly no hope left.
What a story it would have made, to discuss over one of our poking-fun-at-each-other sessions, that having his heart stopped for nearly 10-minutes, his body still came back enough to have kept on reviving even at this late stage when the is nearly no hope left.
There are a thousand things I am genuinely mad at him for. Particularly the numerous times I could see he was in pain and he would not admit to me. But the life he lived is far more valuable a memory and the times we have had together is absolutely priceless.
He sleeps a peaceful sleep about 30-meters away from me, but he can’t hear me or feel much. I do not know when this last clasp will also loosen and the physical strands also start to whither away.
There is a sneaky hope he will effect another miracle, much like the one he pulled off after being gone for 10-minutes.
But, it is unlikely that it will happen.
So, I must wish you peace and a spectacular journey to the place you will go to. Our love will always follow you wherever that place is.
Should you meet V there, tell him to be happy. Tell him that we miss him terribly and that three-years have done nothing to erase even a tiny part of him from our lives.
I hope both of you will laugh heartily at us from there.
I wish you safe travels and peace, Mr. P.