Uncle

"Take care," I said, "Take good care of yourself. Be happy, and live every single day to the fullest. That's what I tell my mum..." I gave him a pat on the shoulder. I would a hug, but it is simply too strange in the culture I grew up in, and in the situation I found myself in at that moment.

He was quiet, my uncle, quiet but visibly touched. "Every day lived is a day earned," he finally said. Since he was diagnosed with cancer, since he began treatment some eight months ago, I have written him twice. Little cards of encouragement and care, little boosts of confidence and life. As I've always believed, a few scribbles of ink on a piece of paper can say, can portray so much...

Last time I saw him in a picture my cousin sent to me, he was completely bald. But now, two months later, the hair, though still on the thin side, has more or less grown back. He looks "normal", but my aunt said he has lost considerable weight, and often has diarrhea. The doctor says he needs more treatment, as he is not completely "clean" of the cancer. But my uncle doesn't want to go through it again. "He feels it's too painful," my cousin told me.

I went to see him, and unlike before, this time I didn't bring much in terms of gifts. Having just come out of the monastery, I did take two books to give him. Both about the Dhamma (Buddha's teachings), and both contain some wisdom about dealing with illness, and death. They are a good read, and really help someone who is nearing the end of his life better prepare for the unknown and to better handle the inevitable fear and possible lingering regrets.

Most of my time while in the south of the country this time I spent with my uncle and my aunt. They have always been the ones with whom I stay whenever I visit that part of the country, and their home is like a second home for me. I remember playing with little plastic toy trains on their living room floor. I remember flipping through same old comic books in my older cousin's bedroom. And the room on the top floor is where I have memories of sleeping next to mum and dad every year around new year's time when the whole family gets together.

My uncle and aunt have seen me grow up and grow older, seen me me transform from that scrawny little kid to the evenly scrawnier and confused boy searching for his way in the world I am today. And I have watched them age, grow old and retire, grow white hair and shrink in size over the years. We have had hours and hours of talk about family and it was from my aunt, who is my dad's older sister and the oldest in the family, that I got to know more about my dad's childhood and the struggles of my parents to raise six children.
 It is difficult to see them now, older, more fragile, and slowly becoming weakened and weakened by illness. Extremely difficult, and a few times, as I sat in their home, I had to hold back the tears.

"Take good care," I said again, as I turned around to wave goodbye again at my uncle. He stood by the front door of their home, slouching a little. In his eyes was a lost, forlorn look. I wish I could have said more, but was lost as to what more I could have said. Deep down inside, I wished that his health would remain stable,and that he can live happily, and be free from fear, free from remorse or agony about falling ill and dying. Perhaps this is the greatest gift I can offer him, and I gave that to him quietly, sincerely.

"I'll come see you whenever I come back..." I said as the car slowly pulled away.

I will, as I always do.