Way Too Soon, Kuya T

We visited him on Sunday. He was obviously in pain, but still tried to keep a happy face, teasing us (Dad, another cousin's husband, and me) to say something when we quietly approached him on his sickbed.

I couldn't help but hide my tears as I tried to soothe his aching feet. I've seen it with Mom—the terminal restlessness. His upper body was still, but his legs kept moving—pushing and pulling, again and again.

"Do they hurt a lot?" I asked him. "No," he said. "But this feels like it's on fire," he continued, referring to his stomach. My hand instinctively moved to his belly and rubbed it gently. It was hot, as if it was burning with a fever.

"Is there anything we can do to help ease it?" My voice cracked. "It's okay," he said. My other hand stroked his hair gently. My two companions remained quiet, still trying to find their voice.

We stayed a little longer, encouraging him not to hesitate to let us (or anybody around) know whatever he needed or wanted. He kept nodding. Then it was time for his communion, so we excused ourselves and stepped out. The minister needed the space to do his job. My husband went in and stood nearby to assist.

"He insisted on coming home to spend time with the kids," his wife shared when we sat down. They had three teenage children, but two needed constant attention (an autistic young lady and a young gentleman who couldn't stand or sit on his own due to a spinal problem). "It seems seeing them made him a bit better," she went on.

We chatted a bit more, along with other relatives. Most of us were still trying to process his sudden deterioration. We only left around 5 pm, hoping he'd be better the next time we visited.

However, on Tuesday around midmorning, we received a call. They said he was gone. I couldn't believe it, so we rushed back to the other town, picked up my sister, the percolator, a few bags of pastries, and then drove straight to their house.

There were many people. Dad was there too. Young ladies were busy prepping coffee; others were setting up tables on the spacious porch. His wife was just coming out of the door, so I met her and gave her my warmest hug. "He's now pain-free," she said, holding back her tears. "He's not suffering anymore," I agreed, gently rubbing her back.

"Yesterday (Monday), he asked to be bathed; after that, he said we should go to the hospital, so we did. He fought hard while in the ICU. He wanted to remove everything that had been connected to his body. Then this morning, his heartbeat went flat," she slowly narrated. "Be strong, cuz," I whispered. "I am, I am," she said softly.

We walked inside their house, and there he was, lying in his coffin, as if he were only sleeping. I stood there for a long time, staring at his face, trying to convince myself he was no more. Yet he was smiling. "Alas! He's free from pain," said the voice in my head.

But it is too soon, Kuya. Way too soon.

Looking at him one more time, I whispered, "Fly high, Kuya T. Watch over us from up there. Someday, we will meet again. We love you."🙏