Saying Goodbye Part 1
It's hard.
I went to visit L in the hospital Friday night. I got in at about 9:40pm, and I thought she'd be resting, but no, she was undergoing her last chemo treatment. Her sister T came up to me and was quite frank. "She's not getting better," she said.

T had been there all day, and needed to rest, so she took a nap. S was there too, keeping an eye on her during her treatment. It lasted till around 12:30am. I sat there next to the bed on one side, with S on the other. S was nodding off, and I wondered if I had ever been in this situation before.

When I was 18, I went to the Philippines to visit my grandfather, who I had never seen before, on his deathbed. He could not talk, but he cried when he saw me. It was quite a sad experience, as my grandfather was well loved by everyone. The family stayed by his bedside, all night long, in a vigil, almost. It was a very big downer. We were in Davao in 1986, and the hospital was very much typical in a non-developed region. The hallways reeked of urine and feces, the floors were dusty, the windows were cracked, and there were ants crawling along the windowsill. They would call out his name. Why? What were they doing? It seemed to me that they were having a hard time letting go. That was the first time I had to watch loved ones suffer along with someone in a hospital.

Well, here I was, seventeen years later, in a calmer, cleaner, yet just as stressful situation. We watched as she writhed in the bed, obviously in a pain I could not even begin to imagine. S and I sat by the bed, watching, helpless, yet trying to be helpful in our own way. We had to be strong. Even though she was not fully conscious, we had to show a strong face. I believe that the sick can feel our energy regardless of their state, and they can sense when we are being weak, even if they can't see us.

After her therapy, S had to go home. T was still asleep, so I stayed by L's bed until she fell into a more peaceful sleep. That wouldn't come for another two hours.

The chemo, combined with the other medicines, made her obviously uncomforable. She would try to rest, and suddenly wake up, obviously in pain. At those moments I would grab her hand and she would look at me, and I'd say "I'm right here. Take a deep breath. I'm right here."

And it was in between those moments, when she was trying to rest, when I would hang my head and feel as if I couldn't continue doing this. She was one of the strongest women I have ever met, how could I possibly give her the strength she needed. How could her family go through this every day? I felt so weak, wondering if I could help her at all. But I maintained this strong front, holding her hand when she needed it, looking at her, saying "I'm right here. Take a deep breath."

She fell into a quieter sleep at around 3am.