When I came back from the hospital, somehow, everything had changed. My room wasn't the same, and my things were gone. I huddled into the backyard, just to find an additional room, which had replaced my beautiful garden.
I had lived in that house for 5 years. The memories attached to it were more precious than the ones I built in my childhood home. The first time I left home to rent that house. The first lease signed in my name. My first pay check. My first house loan to buy off the property. The property, which I turned into a beautiful home. My independent life. Tens of firsts came to my mind, and I smiled woozily. The thought occurred to me then - It wasn't mine to keep anymore. I wasn't alive anymore.
I scurried towards my parents' house, and witnessed a sullen looking crowd. I had been in the hospital for about six months, when they sold my house to pay the medical bills. If I ever woke up, they thought, I would have to move back in with them. Ventilator support does not really leave much energy for maintaining a house of your own. It hardly leaves you alive at all.
I always visualized what it would be like, to witness my own funeral. Who would come see me the last time? Who would be crying? Who would be handling the situation well? Who would break down and not be able to look at my corpse? Who would not show up at all? Would I be burnt or buried?
I saw the eyes of all my loved ones, together at once. Funnily, there were some people I barely knew, barely talked to. It was a good feeling, even if it felt a tad sadistic. I was genuinely happy to see them turn up. I just prayed that they didn't cry. They would stop, eventually; that I was sure of. After a while, the misery from watching them cry grew stronger, and I wished I had never died.
That night, I visited each person present at my funeral, in their dreams. I said all the things I longed to say, heard them say things I wished to hear all my life. I vowed not to walk away with words unsaid, unheard; all the while ensuring that they don't cry for me anymore. I could always meet them in their dreams, I told them, just the way I was.
That was the first time I felt the remorse of making people go through all that hell, just for the sake of witnessing their love. For the first time since my accident, I wish I hadn't died.
I had lived in that house for 5 years. The memories attached to it were more precious than the ones I built in my childhood home. The first time I left home to rent that house. The first lease signed in my name. My first pay check. My first house loan to buy off the property. The property, which I turned into a beautiful home. My independent life. Tens of firsts came to my mind, and I smiled woozily. The thought occurred to me then - It wasn't mine to keep anymore. I wasn't alive anymore.
I scurried towards my parents' house, and witnessed a sullen looking crowd. I had been in the hospital for about six months, when they sold my house to pay the medical bills. If I ever woke up, they thought, I would have to move back in with them. Ventilator support does not really leave much energy for maintaining a house of your own. It hardly leaves you alive at all.
I always visualized what it would be like, to witness my own funeral. Who would come see me the last time? Who would be crying? Who would be handling the situation well? Who would break down and not be able to look at my corpse? Who would not show up at all? Would I be burnt or buried?
I saw the eyes of all my loved ones, together at once. Funnily, there were some people I barely knew, barely talked to. It was a good feeling, even if it felt a tad sadistic. I was genuinely happy to see them turn up. I just prayed that they didn't cry. They would stop, eventually; that I was sure of. After a while, the misery from watching them cry grew stronger, and I wished I had never died.
That night, I visited each person present at my funeral, in their dreams. I said all the things I longed to say, heard them say things I wished to hear all my life. I vowed not to walk away with words unsaid, unheard; all the while ensuring that they don't cry for me anymore. I could always meet them in their dreams, I told them, just the way I was.
That was the first time I felt the remorse of making people go through all that hell, just for the sake of witnessing their love. For the first time since my accident, I wish I hadn't died.
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