It’s the shriek that wakes me.
A piercing, horrifying shriek that invades my peace
Like an unconcerned army marching blindly under the control of unknown generals,
Rudely jolts me awake with the cruel apathy of an inevitable fate.
But it’s the words that I cannot forget.
The words etched forever on my skull, a constant reminder.
“He’s not breathing!”
My mother’s voice breaks with panic, with absolutely arresting fear.
A never-ending car ride,
Five minutes that stretch forward,
Racing against the last few grains in the hourglass
To the place that houses the last flickers of an extinguishing life.
The flashing lights of the ambulance pulsate in the unnatural silence of that early morning
My mom rushes to the house, feverishly wringing her hands,
The expectation of impending devastation holds her face hostage.
I glimpse inside the house,
See the men bent double,
Working desperately to stoke the kindling of a diminishing fire.
A small body, battered from years of sickness
A life robbed by the crippling expectations of society
Tiny hands that used to hold my finger, now unable to grasp onto a thread of life
A beautiful heart, now sounding its last valiant beats.
My brother. My beautiful big brother. Gone forever.
I slide down the wall, my wails shattering the oppressive quiet.
My chest shakes as the panic conquers me.
I lost my breath that day. I’m still not quite sure if I’ve caught it yet.