Yesterday, I chatted with a friend. Our conversation revolved around her love life, and without realising it, we took a turn to talking about deaths of our loved ones. She recently lost her brother. Her question to me was: how do you deal with the loss of your two brothers? It took me a while to answer her. At last, I answered: I never got into terms with both losses. It's as simple as that, you will never come to terms with death.
I had two brothers, one died when I was 20 years old. He was 12 years old. It was 13 years ago. I was then studying for my A-level somewhere in Cheras. When I was studying back then, I used to commute almost weekly to Johor. Yes... my friends said I was crazy, but I was too attached to my family (besides, I hated the food there). There was one weekend, we just got our first assignment, and I decided to stay back to finish it. I was in the IT lab one morning when one of the students there called me out and said that my dad had called looking for me. I thought it was weird of him to call me (he never called - I called him). He wanted me to call him back urgently. So I went to the pay phone and called his mobile. He was in a car or something. He told me to come back home straight away because my youngest brother just had an accident. Later I found out that he was actually in an ambulance carrying my brother to the hospital.
My heart skipped a beat, but from the sound of his voice, I was sure that it was a minor accident, and that everything was OK. So I packed an overnight bag and headed to Puduraya. I tried to find a ticket back to Johor, but because it was already noon, I could only get a 2 pm bus. I had a few hours to kill before boarding time, but I was too numb to do anything. I ended up sitting on one of the seats that they provided at the bus station. I was not myself of course as I still felt that there was something else that my dad didn't tell me. All the while, I was reassuring myself that nothing bad happened.
The bus journey took about 4 hours to reach my hometown. By the time I reach my destination, it was 6 pm. When I passed the first junction to my house, I saw a pool of blood. It was still there... and again my heart skipped another beat. I walked quickly and there at my house, a lot of people gathered. I went straight in and asked for my mom. In the living room, I saw books of Yassin. I found my mom still crying, and then it was confirmed.... I just couldn't hold my tears anymore...
I didn't even get to see him for the last time. I didn't even get to kiss him goodbye...
The week I was at home, I was not being myself at all... yes.. who would... Things keep coming back to me, how funny he was, the tricks I played on him, how cute he looked when he made that cheeky face... Even the week after I got back to college, I was still not myself... It just didn't feel right somehow that he was not around... and the feelings that I experienced were out of this world, the regrets I had... I just couldn't express them. And the worse part was that the tears didn't seem to want to go away...
That was the first experience of losing a member of my family that I had to cope. It is still painful thinking about it...
ieja
I had two brothers, one died when I was 20 years old. He was 12 years old. It was 13 years ago. I was then studying for my A-level somewhere in Cheras. When I was studying back then, I used to commute almost weekly to Johor. Yes... my friends said I was crazy, but I was too attached to my family (besides, I hated the food there). There was one weekend, we just got our first assignment, and I decided to stay back to finish it. I was in the IT lab one morning when one of the students there called me out and said that my dad had called looking for me. I thought it was weird of him to call me (he never called - I called him). He wanted me to call him back urgently. So I went to the pay phone and called his mobile. He was in a car or something. He told me to come back home straight away because my youngest brother just had an accident. Later I found out that he was actually in an ambulance carrying my brother to the hospital.
My heart skipped a beat, but from the sound of his voice, I was sure that it was a minor accident, and that everything was OK. So I packed an overnight bag and headed to Puduraya. I tried to find a ticket back to Johor, but because it was already noon, I could only get a 2 pm bus. I had a few hours to kill before boarding time, but I was too numb to do anything. I ended up sitting on one of the seats that they provided at the bus station. I was not myself of course as I still felt that there was something else that my dad didn't tell me. All the while, I was reassuring myself that nothing bad happened.
The bus journey took about 4 hours to reach my hometown. By the time I reach my destination, it was 6 pm. When I passed the first junction to my house, I saw a pool of blood. It was still there... and again my heart skipped another beat. I walked quickly and there at my house, a lot of people gathered. I went straight in and asked for my mom. In the living room, I saw books of Yassin. I found my mom still crying, and then it was confirmed.... I just couldn't hold my tears anymore...
I didn't even get to see him for the last time. I didn't even get to kiss him goodbye...
The week I was at home, I was not being myself at all... yes.. who would... Things keep coming back to me, how funny he was, the tricks I played on him, how cute he looked when he made that cheeky face... Even the week after I got back to college, I was still not myself... It just didn't feel right somehow that he was not around... and the feelings that I experienced were out of this world, the regrets I had... I just couldn't express them. And the worse part was that the tears didn't seem to want to go away...
That was the first experience of losing a member of my family that I had to cope. It is still painful thinking about it...
ieja
