It was a good fifteen minutes of leaning against the cold corridor's wall before the nurse approached me, clothed in green: 'You can go in now.' - she quietly said.  I nodded & headed towards room #13.  My heart was racing - memories of my brother flashed in front of me; the hospital visits, his face, his eyes, his words, his agony...

I stood outside the room, staring at the unconscious person laying on the hospital bed - so many instruments connected to him that measured his vital signs.  Though he was of no relation to me, he had never met me, I don't even know if he knew I existed - his sister and mother are considered as family & have shown so much nobility, kindness and sincerity in countless situations - the most prominent: during my brother's illness and his passing away.  Looking at his face as I approached the bed, tears welled up in my eyes.  I just felt so sad for him - for his young daughter and his family.

I didn't want to cry - not there.  'Don't break down' I kept telling myself.  I looked at his face, even with his eyes closed - there was kindess; so similar to that seen on his mother's.  There was rash-like redness across his neck, and looking down at his arms, his hands were swollen - probably from all the medication & the immobility.  It hurt to look at him, not because I find it difficult to look at ill people or that I can't face sad/harsh realities, but - it was as if my brother was laying there, all over again.

'Enough memories from the past' - I thought to myself.  I delved inside my handbag for the prayer book I had brought with me.  After finding the page with the upper right corner folded, I began reading; prayer after prayer.  Every once in a while I would pause and look at his face before continuing again.  After a very long time, my legs began to ache - there were no chairs in the room; hospital policy so as to discourage long visits by relatives.  I read some more, and then gently closed the book.  I moved closer to him - taking his features in, praying loudly to God for his recovery & with that,

I left.

I never got the chance to be with my brother during his unconscious days.  I would take numerous mental and emotional guilt trips when I'd recall that I wasn't able to read any prayers for him by his side - being near him was so important to me.  After my visit to this man, I felt better.

Somehow, the guilt wasn't intensely felt as before.
Somehow, I felt lighter and I knew, as with everything in life, it was all planned for - a part of His plan.

Kindly pray for his recovery and for his family's strength.

The Journey

"The life of man is a journey; a journey that must be travelled, however bad the roads or the accommodation." - Oliver Goldsmith

I shall visit him again, God willing.