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Around nine months ago, I was woken up by a phone call very early in the morning. It was the weekend, so I let it ring and continued my slumber until I got my lazy butt out of bed. It was after doing my morning chores that I decided to check who had called - it was my wife's cousin. The voice mail he left threw me right out of my comfort zone. He had been having headaches, so the doctor suggested an MRI and they had discovered a tumor in his brain. I felt like slapping myself for not taking his call and letting it go to voice mail. I desperately tried to call him back, but did not get any answer. It was later on that I knew he had been hospitalized and they had started further investigations into his condition.
Fast forward a couple of weeks - I traveled to Chicago to be by his side and also receive his parents who were on their way from India. It was 3 days packed with emotions - of him, his sister and his parents. There was a mix of anxiety, despair and hope for a better future - Medical science has made so many advances - we can clone entire organs, so a tumor in the brain could not be much of a puzzle for the brightest of doctors right?
Except, it was. They ruled out surgery as it was too complex and started chemo, radiation and rehabilitation. I painfully watched as his dad helped him regain his strength to walk, assist him to the bathroom and help him with other things otherwise considered mundane in daily life. For his dad, it was as if life had progressed in reverse, when his son was a little boy, and he was holding his hands to help him get his balance.
As time passed he fought back with his strong will power and zest for living, but then all of that suffered huge blows as hope dwindled and more doctors said that there was nothing more they could do. He never complained about how life was unfair and that he was given the short end of a stick. The bounce in his talk was still there, though occasionally he would delve into long streaks of silence. He joked about the hair he had lost because of the chemo and of the weight he had put on because of all the steroids.
After putting up a brave fight, the third week of March was destined to be his last on this planet. The last few days were particularly tough - for him and everyone close to him and then he decided he had enough. The tumor eventually outgrew his willpower and took over control. I guess some dark clouds do not have a silver lining after all.
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After that phone call from my brother after his funeral, I called and spoke to his dad the next day. It hurt deeply, and though the chatty person that I am, I was at a loss for words in all languages I knew. I told him what I felt - all he could do was to look after himself and hos wife as his son would have done and that live life as happily as he would have wanted you to. In a way, the best homage to a bright young lad.
The loss of a child is more scarring in many ways compared to the loss of parents or close relatives. It hurts you until your last breath. Many a lesson can be learned from all of this - the most important one being - never lose the joy of living life amidst complaints about all the nitty grtty details.
Jiby was 24 at the time of his funeral. He was just beginning to enjoy life in its prime - precisely why he fought so hard against what eventually took his life at a young age. May his soul rest his peace and may his memories light up moments of people he touched.
Sleep well my friend, for you shall be forever young.
Picture courtesy - http://usagamezone.blogspot.com
