The fight called life

I was totally busy at work, unable to attend calls or messages at that point. I saw that he had left a message in the evening, but over a period of time we had arrived at the mutual agreement that it wasn’t possible for me to attend to him all the time. So I let it wait, and by the time I finished off all my works, I was too tired to even open WhatsApp. It was night when I finally remembered; the message sent me into instant panic mode. I called him repeatedly, on whichever number and social media handles I could reach. But he didn’t pick up, and the messages didn’t get delivered. I was paralysed with fear; I couldn’t lose him, and honestly, my concern wasn’t the pain and defeat I’d feel if he did what he told me he’d do. I had seen him fight hard for his life, against all odds and despite the lack of concrete support. I had witnessed his daily struggles to hold on. It was unfair of him, to simply give up like that. I so deeply believed, with every breath that came in and went out of my body, that healing was not far away for him.

I worried, I prayed, I called and called.

After several hours of sending me into a frenzy, he called back to tell me that he was very much alive. With full knowledge about the risks, wholly aware of the everyday fight that awaited him, he chose to keep on fighting.

Did I tell you how proud I felt that day? You chose to live, and though the people around can’t see the enormity of that, I’m proud of you, and so grateful to you for staying alive.

© mar:ter