Death Around the Corner: A Short Story

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My neighbour’s on her deathbed.  It’s a cancer, which has spread to liver.  The doctors say there’s nothing they can do except wait for the inevitable.  She’s been to chemo twice but it severely affected her quality of life and the doctor’s can’t guarantee any results… so her family has decided to take her off it and bring her home.  Where she can be surrounded by love and a familiar place with familiar faces.

I was there last night after noticing the large amount of cars and activity around our 3 Flat simplex.  It was going on all day but I only asked her son-in-law last night what her condition was like.  I regret asking that question so late.  What was I waiting for?  It was so obvious and I was blindsided with my focus only on myself and my life.

I should have been more thoughtful. More aware.  I could have offered so much more help.  Especially with the crowds of guests coming in and out of the house.  It must be a logistical nightmare catering for all those people and staying by her side.  I mean her kids have to go through the pain of watching their mother in this state and cater food and drink, provide seating, etc. ??  It’s just not right if I don’t help.  It’s probably the worst sin to ignore this situation in this context.

So I knocked on their door last night and their son-in-law, Muhammad, told me that she’s taken a turn for the worse.  The room was full of people sitting in prayer on chairs against the walls, cynically, I noticed the array of Islamic headgear.  A weird thing to notice but I must have been subconsciously denying the situation in some way.  As I walked back to my place to call my wife as well, it dawned on me what was happening.  This lady, my neighbour, was the sweetest and most loving woman I had met and I mean this because I have only ever saw her caring for other’s welfare, including my own when I first came to stay here.

As my wife and I walk through to the bedroom from which we can hear the hum of prayer coming through and as we open the door we se ethe room packed with relatives.  My neighbour, the sweet old lady, Zuleikha, is lying on the bed surrounded by her daughters who are in tears.  Her husband, son and the rest of the family sitting against the wall.

Her eyes were closed, almost completely sunken and surrounded by dark rings and ashen skin.  She was deathly thin, her body had refused to take anything in and she was on a drip.  She was lying still and her two daughters, one rubbing her chest and the other holding her hand and keeping her head next to hers.  Her husband holding her hand and talking to her. The only movement I’d seen of her was her lips move ever so slightly to whisper something in her husband’s ear.  All the while the hum of prayer continues around the room and I can’t stop myself from praying as well… for her suffering to ease and for her to attain her ultimate goal.

The sight shakes me to the core and makes me regret even more why I had not acted earlier, and the actions of the last few hours haunt me as well… watching a movie, contemplating watching an episode of Prison Break… in my own little world, oblivious. I can’t say I wasn’t disgusted with myself.

So after while, the room being crowded enough, we leave the bedroom for the lounge to make space for other’s who want to come in.  As I walk into the lounge, I notice that it’s filled mostly with women and this makes me a bit weary… and this lady then tells my wife to tell me that the men are on the balcony.

So I walk to the balcony and there are three guys sitting at the far end, one smoking a cigarette.  As I approached, they each momentarily (a fraction of a second) lift their eyes to notice me but without any acknowledgment not even a slight nod of the head. No greetings, so I stand there uncomfortable and ignored which makes me both embarassed and extremely irritated because my head’s still reeling from what I’ve seen in the room just next to where I’m standing.  Standing there, not disturbing their conversation, which is focused on the very important topic of what exactly constitutes an occasional smoker.  I felt like I was in a scene from Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho. What the hell is wrong with these people?

This really irked me as my head was still spinning from I had witnessed a moment ago and from feeling death so close (in time and space.)

So I just left and headed next door to my place, head still spinning, mouth still moving in prayer. And the last thing I remember before falling asleep was how death can come at any time for some as slow as cancer and others in fractions of a second.  Have I prepared for it? Has my life been lived to achieve my purpose on earth? Was I even close? Am I close?  I could die tomorrow or in the next couple of minutes and not know if my life had made the slightest positive difference to anyone.

I lay my head down and close my eyes.  I see a picture of Aunty Zuleikha again, the same warm smile I had seen countless times… I fall asleep. In the morning I woke to cries coming from next door, She had lasted through the night but didn’t get to see a new day.

Technorati Tags: Death, Short Story

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