I’ve seen you trying to hold yourself together when you were first diagnosed with cancer. oh how I hate that C word.

I saw you picking yourself up over and over again every single time a new symptom struck, your blood, your brain, your liver… God, every other month, we will be in a new ward, a new set of doctors and nurses trying their best to help you but to not much success. The hospital is like our second home and still you try your best to muster the strength to go on.

and now…

I look at you and I feel my heart breaking again and again. You are getting weaker, your voice is getting lower, your breathing shallower.

I see you so uncomfortable and so in pain that you can’t even sleep for more than an hour before you cry out with extreme body aches or rush to the toilet for the millionth time and I can’t do anything except to pray to God to take your pain away because I can’t do anything.

I see you get so sad that you had to confine yourself to our bedroom because even walking to the main hall makes you feel like you’re running a marathon. And because of that too, you had to stop working and I see you get even more depressed.

I see you look at me and I feel my heart beating so fast, it must be running like a racehorse, I’m surprised that it’s still in my chest. Is this the last time we are going to see each other?