Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4567 | Page 227

Now I see you in the hospital bed, the doctor beside telling us you had a terminal cancer, and you only had
weeks to live. The news was like the end for me. My mind stopped working. Our daughter cried. But you, you
were smiling the whole time, brushing off the news as if it was nothing. You had a hand on our daughter’s head
and another in mine. You said it was alright. But it wasn’t. Nothing was. I looked at you as if the world was
upside down. You looked back like it was not. But it was all too much for you. Eventually your mask dropped
and started crying too.
I remember the next few weeks as me taking care of you. I would stay by your side the whole time. Our
daughter came too after school. We watched you grow weaker and weaker everyday. Soon you were only the
shell of who you were. Your face grew hollow; your flesh shrank into your bones.
I watched you slip away fraction by fraction each day. I watched you die slowly. It was painful for me. I wished
so bad everyday that I was the one lying on the bed dying instead of you. My mind was fuzzy all the time. My
eyes always red and swollen. My throat raw from talking to you.
Then this one day came. I left the room to get us some lunch. When I came back, I dropped our trays. I
staggered towards your hospital bed. I took your hand. Cold, death cold warmth seeped into me. A cry escaped
my throat. I climbed onto the bed, and held you in my arms one last time. Your whole body was stiff.
I shook you in my arms, buried my nose into your hair. Trying to find that familiar scent of yours, anything to
convince me that you were only asleep. But no, even your scent was taking away by death. There was no
lingering scent like in the movies or books. Pain stabbed my heart, over and over again. I screamed without a
sound in your hair. A part of me felt like it was ripped out. The pain was more than anything I’ve ever felt.
The whole time while I cried with you in my arms, you had a smile on your face. And there was traces of dried
up tears.
~
It was unfair, for you to die so young, at the age of 35. It was unfair, I still had so much to say to you. It was
unfair, you gave up so much for our family. Yet you could only experience a part of the happiness that awaited
you.
It’s been 16 years since you died. Our daughter learned to cope with the pain eventually. But I never did. I never
had a chance to say goodbye. I loved you dearly. I loved you with all my heart. I loved you so much that I
would have find a way to pick the stars in the sky down for you.
Do you remember. That day, when we were still teens. Where we laid at night on the grasses of a park under the
night sky. It was the most beautiful night I’ve ever seen. The stars were shining at us. We would talk about our
plans for the future. About our marriage, our kids, our jobs, our house, our retirement, our days as old man and
woman. We never managed to complete our plans.
Ever since that day after you died. Life was never the same. Our house no longer had the warmth to it. I could
no longer see your eyes shimmering with mischief. I could no longer kiss you. I could no longer hear your
voice. I could no longer smell your scent. I could no longer hold your delicate fingers.
Throughout my life, I’ve never wanted much. However, as I sit here in our living room, pen and paper in my
hand, I want to hold your hand once more, to hear your voice once more, to kiss you once more, to smell your
scent once more, to see your eyes once more.
All I want. Is to have a single extra second, to be with you once more.