Revisitation

Just passed the 2 year mark of my accident 3 days ago. I breathed in and out with deep long breathes, as if that will make me more prepared, as I entered Tan Tock Seng Hospital. There was this awkwardness in my body, as if not sure of what I was about to experience. As I stepped into Ward 3A/3B, I saw cliques of people mostly with the same downcasted and weary face. You see, uncle was a soccer coach, impacting many young lives out there in the field - both male and female. I went across and hugged my friend, as if there was this uplifting of all social properness as we reveal ourselves emotionally naked. She was always the tough cookie and chilli padi that she is.

After talking to her mum for awhile, we decided to go in to see the dad. I felt my heart pump a little faster, thinking of how I was going to do this - what God wants me to do. I went into the ICU ward and my friend introduced me to her dad as her band's new bassist. 'Hi Uncle, it's nice meeting you.' I greeted his motionless body, as we meet for the first time. After a couple of minutes of talking about his condition, what the nurses and doctors are doing to him, re-chilling the towel for his fever, we left. I left slightly frustrated because of my struggle to pray out loud for uncle, as if I was ashamed to pray when others I do not know of are looking. I had to bless them! When my friend was sending me to the lift, I asked her if I could pray for her. And her response as subtle as it is, strucked me like a 5-tonne trucker at 70. 'You should've prayed for my dad inside.' But I concluded that it was better than nothing at all, I wanted to pray for her. My concern was more for her mum, sister and herself. They had to handle so many things all at once.

I went back home after that and felt really heavy with what I just saw. Then as I was having dinner, the sms came,'We've decided to pull the plug after midnight.' I went down again later at night with the rest of my band. As I was at the check-in counter for visitors with my head slightly spinning, The receptionist requested for me to write down my details. ' Which ward and bed?' 'Uh... Ward 3A.... Bed.... 7.' As I continued to write my particulars, I came across the column 'Paitent's name'. I got stucked there for awhile, then I realised I didn't know his name. I went up the rows and then referred to previous entries and wrote it down. Ok, now I know.

I went up and there were at least 2 times more people than there was that evening I went. It was close to midnight. The atmosphere was almost drowning, intense. Most of the time I just sat there, believing that my presence there would have comforted her in one way or another. I couldn't think of anything else that I could do. I looked across to the other corridor and peeked through the tiny windows on the closed doors. That was where I was 2 years ago. Amazing. I took a picture of myself, now able, with the ward number. To me, it was a thanksgiving that I could come back healthy and revisit the place where it was between life and death for me. Something worth taking a picture of. From where I was standing, alive and well, 20 metres away in a room, someone was about to take his final breathe. Death isn't too far away for anyone. The line is thin, it was a solemn reminder that my 'borrowed time'(quoted from my friend) is precious. I had to think through whether what I'm blogging about now is worth my time. Yeah, definitely.

R.I.P Uncle. God bless.