Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My cousin Gabriel, 6 years old, is in the hospital, slowly dying from a type of cerebral infection that no doctor seems to know what to do with. I visited him yesterday and I am in shock. He is a frail, fragile, emaciated thing, looking like those poor african children in commercials, except white. He is covered in bruises, frankenstein-like scars, and has been taken off life support, artificial breathing. He is now on his own until the end.
With every breath I could see his little chest forcing the air in. He is working hard as secretions are accumulating in his lungs. His little gray eyes are active, staring at us, blinking, moving around, focusing while the rest of his body is pretty much paralyzed. I stared in those beautiful eyes for as long as I could before I left.
On the highway home I was sobbing in the car with the music up loud. Sobbing and sobbing, it was dangerous because everything was blurry. But I made it home, and went to cry in my love’s arms. This poor little boy. Although I can’t help myself to think of what he will be missing out on in life, with only six years completed, I am wishing for his suffering to stop as soon as possible. Gabriel needs to rest, after one month of wires and biopsies and tubes and scars and operations.
Now I just feel like thinking of him until he drifts away. But I have to go to work. Reality checks suck.