Release

The first time you fought the cancer and won. You even taught again for a year. Your students were overjoyed when you returned. The next time, it was more difficult. The cancer spread its tentacles more rapidly, reducing you to a mere shadow of your former self. The last time you visited, I saw that the light in your eyes had died. Your will to live had been sapped. And yet you were so cheerful always. From your voice, no one could have guessed the amount of pain you were going through. You could barely eat anything. You could not walk without support. And no doctor could explain why water kept accumulating in your lungs. In the end that proved fatal. You felt breathless and uneasy; the hospital refused to take you in, fearing you were a Covid-19 patient. By the time they relented, it was too late. You suffered a massive cardiac arrest and passed away. You were gone too soon, Auntie. Rest in peace.