One of friends who I haven't seen for almost a decade, yet still very vividly amicable in my mind has been diagnosed as the last stage of an intestine cancer. Since past month, I've tried to contact him, which I found harder as time goes by, probably because of him taking more painkillers by the passage of time. I called him again last weekend, hoping to see him once for all, which he only resigned politely. In his voice, I felt no life. Near whispering voice was much too toned-down with obvious despair and pain, whereas mine exaggeratedly loud and pseudo-cheerful. For the first time, I felt him dying. A man in his early thirties, at a pinnacle of one's life, was fading away.
Perhaps, I pushed him too much. Felt somehow guilty to be well, while he has not been blessed with, I have wished to see him, perhaps even wanted to confirm how well and happy I am by seeing him suffering. Maybe, I was selfish to ask him too much to go and see him when he is at his worst state since we saw last time. Deep sorrow surged from the inside.
