The Feeling That Lingers / Goodbye Sean

Mourning over the loss of someone is such a weird feeling that I still can't get a grasp of. Regardless of how close we were, or how often we met, or how the some of the only memories we shared were something we couldn't even remember ourselves and had to have our parents remind us - like the time we showered together as kids in the same bathtub, causing the both of us to be embarrassed when we met again when we were 17 and 22. The feeling of loss is still something that I can feel moving through every corner of my soul and the only words I could muster out was, "my condolences", regardless of how rarely we met.

The closer we were, the longer the feeling of loss lingers around in me, that's all. 

I'll miss you. And I know you'll be remembered because your mother dedicated her whole life to taking care of you. What will she do now? She was always worrying over you, hovering and watching your every step. Your father never really got himself involved, but I guess his way of taking care of you was by providing for the whole family financially. Your brother used to act like he didn't give a shit, probably because he never got the attention he wanted because you were sick for a very long time, but he grew older and understood the painful situation that the whole family was going through so he started to love you more each day. 

They all say that it was about time you go because you've really been fighting a long battle that not a lot of people can imagine going through at such a young age. The surgeries, the medication, the pain... the loss of youth. You are only 25 after all. 

I'm glad that we got to share that Thailand trip with you and your mum back in 2012. We had great fun and I'll always remember that night where Josh and I screamed and ran around in circles in our room because there was a frog in the toilet, and you rushed over asking us if we were okay and laughed when you saw our flustered expressions after realising that it was only because of a frog. 

You caught the frog for us and let it go. 

I will also remember the look of determination on your face when we were playing archery that afternoon. When you saw Josh try it, my dad egged you on, "Have a shot, Sean. You've got nothing to lose!" Your mum, as usual, worriedly rejected the idea of having you pick up a bow because your left hand has been shaking ever since your last op. She said that it was something that you were really self-conscious about in front of people. 

Your mum's words didn't stop you that afternoon. My dad managed to convince you to pick the bow up and have a shot. Your hands shook uncontrollably while all of us tried to ignore it like you know, how we sometimes notice a clear difference in how someone acts/behaves/looks but we try to ignore that and treat them all the same? I know I did it that afternoon.

Despite being self-conscious about your shaking hand, the look on your face showed none of that and only seriousness. Probably only sighs of frustration could be heard when you couldn't get the arrow to rest properly on the bow, though that didn't stop you at all that day. You were focused on getting that bow to work the way you wanted it to, and after a couple of tries, you finally managed to shoot one. Into the pond. Every one of us cheered the loudest we could. 

These were the best memories but sadly the only ones that I shared with you. The last time we visited Thailand, your mother said that you were too sick in bed to get out of the house anymore. We didn't even get the chance to visit you then. 

Rest in peace, Sean. Thank you for showing me what fearlessness and positivity meant from your perspective. I know that now you'll be able to walk with your own legs, eat and speak without your mother worrying about you and you'll be able to pick up that heavy archery bow without your left arm shaking.

Your soul has left this sickened body and now, you are free. You are a courageous young soul, and I hope that you're enjoying yourself up there in heaven.

We'll miss you, Sean.