SEVEN

by: Beatriz

As she brushed through her stale-old sheets, she whispered, “My ticket to life.. after the last hour.” The summer breeze seems to be colder. She hid her face through the bushes of the old Champaca Tree. It’s been there over the years and the foliage is at some distance above the ground. The sun is shining brightly and the rays of light seems to be reaching out to her. She watched the clouds walked through the air as the shining legacy of God’s creation is smiling at her. She smirked. And again hold tightly the sheets in her hand. She started writing. “What to write?” She sighed. Maybe she thought about moving. She even thought of dancing. No, she dreamt of dancing. The reverie of walking through a tunnel where your shadow is following you. YES! She vaguely concepted the idea of being free. Of being normal. Again. But she no longer can. Something is slowly killing her. “You have Intracranial tumor. Colloquially, it is brain tumor. You have brain cancer.” Said her doctor after diagnosing her 7 months ago. So what exactly is life when you know death is about to come? That death is not coming silently because it will painfully bang you down. What is life for a great woman whose mind is unexceptionally admired by many? Lived her life with logical views and faced each dilemma rationally. How can a writer like her who gave up love, can think of any other way to live? To breathe? Or even just to smile? “Life is unfair. God is.” She once thought. She blamed God for her sickness. She blamed God for all the pain. She did. For the first couple of months under treatment, she lived life through hell. She screamed at Him at the back of her mind. She no longer have the strength to utter a screaming tone. She can’t move carelessly. She can’t even grip her pen. Yes! She still badly wants to write. But that was when everything haven’t changed yet. Her four months of agony. Of emotional outbreak. She still can view what exactly changed her. It is when her body is not functioning well anymore and medications are just taken to temporarily cease the pain. “LET ME DIE NOW!” Her seven-year old daughter was holding her hand as she helplessly voiced out her willingness to die. She unintentionally showed her weakness in front of her only treasure. “NO Mom. Please no.” She pleaded to her. Pearl of tears were running endlessly in her porcelain face. “You haven’t given me much time yet. Though this is the longest time you have been with me. I shouldn’t have had thank God for giving you cancer Mom." She wants to ask why.

Did she really heard that right? Her daughter thanked God for giving her cancer?

YES. She heard her right. But her daughter didn’t thank God because she’s sick. She thanked God because she gave her time to be with her Mom. Because for the seven years of her existence, the longest time her mother was with her was when she first opened her eyes to the world. Her birth. Isn’t it ironic?

Life is not unfair. But life is unbelievably fair. You can choose not to believe it but you will never hide the fact that you deserve everything there is to life. To your life. So in the midst of facing death and the rays of earth’s divine light, will she accept the end? Or still question her foolishness?

She wrote;

“July 07, 2007,

I faced the world through all its colors. I wrote each kind of words there are to describe. I am not a poet yet I wrote tragedies. I am no Thalia yet I wrote comedies. I speak through most tongues. And touched heaven for what I thought is. I traveled and met the world. Showed what life a brilliant writer I could ever be. I sailed all the seven seas just to write what those seas might whisper. I touched the clouds to feel its adrenaline. Turn into words pictures can paint through thousands of it.

I lived with the earth’s wonders.

But…

I never got the chance to see my child’s waking moments. Never got the chance to express my love for her through words. I speak different languages but never had a real conversation with her. I never had the chance to touch her face every single moment as I should have had everytime I traveled the world. I never showed her what kind of mother I can possibly be. I should have sailed with her. Jump and flew with her. Had pictures with her.

I lived with earth’s wonders while leaving the only wonder I have.

My only love.

My only child.

Now life is about to end.

How can I ever give back the seven years I stole from her?

When now even 7 days I know I can no longer give.”

-END-

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