My Father, the Passive Killer

He might as well stuck a poison dart right in between the eyes of his dying sister.

He used to have a sister. She was the most intelligent one in the family. I used to look up to her because she would devour these crossword puzzles like I go through junkfood. Eloquent writer and speaker. She can bitch it out good as well. She had Diabetes. After reaching forty, she suddenly had complications. She was going blind, her health was failing drastically. She was in pain everytime she breathed. The stout stature she once had, has now been turned into a skelital display of her former self. She was sick. Very sick.

She landed in the public hospital. It was a place where more people left in body bags rather than walking out alive. The air inside was full of anguish and hurt. It’ll cost the family a small fortune just for her to survive another day.

My father then decided to let her die.

It was a decision that my grandmother never agreed on. Imagine! Your own son deciding that his younger sister die! Of course, during that time, his sister was in and out of consciousness because of the pain. She didn’t know that her life was about to end that week. She was asking for help. Still gasping for life. Grandmother had neither the strength nor money to keep her alive. My father had all the cards.

On February 2004. She died in anguish and pain.

She was buried a few days later. Looking at her, I felt guilty. I could’ve done something but was too afraid to do anything. Fuck me. Scardy fucking cat. All I could think now is at least she doesn’t have to feel any pain anymore.

My father did not shed a tear at all. My grandmother wailed to the heavens. I stood by my grandmother through the burial.