Five Years

Five years ago, I traveled to the big hospital in the city. I hate hospitals. They almost didn't let me see you. because you were in the PICU, I was only 16, and visiting hours had ended long before I showed up. I wanted to see you so badly it hurt. When I finally did though, it hurt worse. You didn't look like you. You didn't smell like you. You didn't act like you- you didn't do anything. You just laid there, breathing slow and deep. You looked peaceful. You didn't look like you were in pain, but there was pain in the room. I could feel it; the weight of your parents prayers sat on my chest as I looked down at your sunken, sleeping face. I remember thinking "God, this is so unfair!" It shouldn't have been you.

When I met you, you seemed like the strongest person I knew; and in so many ways, you were. I knew that that night was going to be it. But I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want it to be the end. But it was.

I stood at the door forever. Too afraid to come close. So afraid that if I breathed too hard, I would break you. Finally I walked towards your bed, and I took your gaunt hand into mine and rubbed my thumb along the back of your knuckles. These hands were so strong. I had seen you work hard with them, be gentle with them, pray with them. You had given me high fives with this hand, and hugged me with this hand. You had touched the world with this hand.

You hair was longer than you usually kept it, and your dark brown curls were tight around your head. I ran my fingers through them, feeling like I was standing at heaven's door with my brother. I knew what was coming for you, and my heart rejoiced. But I knew what was coming for me, and my heart also grieved. I leaned my head down beside yours and rested beside you. Tears streaming down my face, I watched your chest slowly rise and fall. No one spoke. No one moved. This was my moment with you. My moment to build one last memory. My moment to say good-bye. I kissed the side of your face, and buried mine in the pillow by your head, and slowly I began croaking out the words to my favorite hymn, "Amazing Grace". Your dad heart me, and began singing with me. We sang all four verses to you, and I watched as you just laid there, and breathed.

Before I left, you did one thing.

Only one.

You squeezed my hand.

So little.

Barely noticeable.

So insignificant at any other moment in time.

But one tiny movement of your hand, meant the world to me.

I love you. And I miss you, not every day, but often. I wait for the day when I can see your face, whole and healthy, again!


In Loving Memory of Y.K.S., 2/4/95-5/10/11. May we all live with such gentle passion.