The Ghost That Mourned

June 3, 2019 8:13 p.m. Eva died today. And I'm here in her room at this dreaded hospital, shaking with anger and regret. As I stand by her lifeless body, I shed tears of loud lamentation over her sudden death. I wasn't here to hold her in my arms in her final moments of her life. She died alone. Eva was only four. Her mother isn't here to comfort with me. I called her so many times while I was on my way here, but she didn't pick up any of my calls, as if she didn't care at all, as if Eva was just someone else's child. I'm calling her at the moment. After a few attempts at reaching out to her, she finally answers the call. Shockingly, I had to wait that long at times like this, considering she's my wife, and it's our daughter who just passed away. But I'm not getting anything from this call. On the other line, all I could hear is dead silence. I wonder what she's doing right now. Is she crying? Perhaps mourning? I have no idea. I've been noticing she's been alienating herself from us, her family, ever since Eva was diagnosed with stage 2 lung cancer 6 months back. And I don't know why. This ugly turn of events is making me want to jump out the window and follow wherever my daughter has gone to. I end this hopeless call. Lucy isn't speaking to me, and I'm wasting my energy on it. I sit beside Eva's bed to watch over her body for the rest of the night. It's now 5 o'clock in the morning. I'm hungry, thirsty, tired, and resentful of everything. My eyes have been peeled open for the past 8 hours. I couldn't sleep. I get in my car and drive off to a funeral home with an awful headache to arrange a funeral for Eva. At 7 a.m., Eva is dressed up and then laid in a casket. The grief in my heart surges up to my neck. I begin feeling this lump in my throat. I'm at a loss for words. This sadness leaks into my thoughts that, within a short period of time, I've thought of so many ways of killing myself. I never once imagined in my life I'd be seeing my daughter in this little box. This unbecoming sight just breaks me. I sink onto this cold floor, crying, holding my hands to my face. Hours go by. I've been keeping vigil for Eva in a chapel provided by the funeral home without consuming food and water for 13 hours. As much as I want her funeral to be held back at home, I couldn't, because we live in a condominium complex, and holding funerals there is close to impossible—even if I implore the management. My parents arrive from the town where I grew up. Meanwhile, my wife, Lucy, still wouldn't come. Really, I've stopped expecting anything from her at this point. Soon after my parents' arrival, my coworkers at a software developing firm, I work as a senior programmer there, find their ways here. And not long after them, my med school classmates and a professor whom I'm close friends with, arrive as well. I'm a medical student dreaming to become a surgeon one day. I'm currently in my 4th year; my final year. But I couldn't care less about that now. In spite of the mess of a schedule I have, I never failed to be present in Eva's eyes. During the day, from 5 a.m. to 6 p.m., I would use any free time I could scavenge to go and check up on her. At school, I would always use our only one 30-minute break time to visit her. And after school, somewhere between 9:00 and 9:20, I would settle down for the night with her at the hospital. That hospital had been my home for 6 months. The other side of the story is this; Lucy seldom visited. It would be a shot for the moon if I could have her visit Eva two times a week. That's just how she doesn't care about us. No matter how hard I tried to persuade her, she only took us for granted. An hour later, except my parents, everyone leaves the chapel for their homes. I don't see any reasons for them to stay any longer. But I'm very much grateful they could come. Just their presence helped me cope with this heartache—at least for an hour. "Son, you must be tired," Father says. "Go back to your house and take a rest. Your mother and I will keep vigil while you're away." I sob, stooping my head, and say, "Father, Mother, he took her from us way too early." Mother lays her hand on the back of my shaking right hand. "I understand, Higgs. She's fought a long arduous fight. We're so proud of her. But be joyous for her struggle is over at last. She no longer has to suffer the great pains of this world. And you need not grieve for her passing, my poor son. She may have lived a fleeting life, but I know you made it full for her, and she regretted nothing. She's now in God's benevolent hands. You must let Him take over the rest." "Son, I know it's difficult. But you have nowhere else to go but forward. You can't let her death be the end of you too. You have to get your act together and think about the one who's left. You and Lucy need each other. Anyway, where is she?" They'll be spoiling for a fight if I tell them what she's been doing to me and Eva. I lie about Lucy having done her turn and being at home resting. They ask me to go console her. I doubt Lucy would even let me in. But they're my parents. They've done so much for me and I can't say no to them. I get in my car and head back home, leaving Eva with them for the time being. When I arrive at our unit, I find Lucy deep in her sleep in our bedroom. It's been a while since I set foot in this place, which is 3 months ago. I'm so spent. My legs are giving up on me. I couldn't be bothered to do a step into the bedroom either. I lie down on our sofa in the living room instead. I don't want to wake Lucy up and end up having an argument with her. I'm too tired for that. When I lay down, I notice there's a peculiar smell coming from the sofa. I don't know what to make of it. Perhaps my nose's become accustomed to the smell of candle fire and that distinct funeral smell. Despairing over this smell is a trivial matter. It's not affecting my desire to sleep. So I ignore the smell and shut my eyes close. I rise from the sofa the next morning. My headache hasn't gone away and has gotten even worse. After sipping a cup of coffee, I walk up to Lucy, who's still lying in bed, to convince her to come with me to the chapel. "Get up, Lucy. My parents are there. They wish to see you," I say to her. She turns her head to the side and says nothing. I shake her by the shoulders as I say aloud, "What the hell's wrong with you, Lucy? Our daughter has just died! Why are you doing this to me?" Again, nothing comes out of her mouth. And she's beginning to drive me insane. I don't know what to do with her. Anger, frustration, and confusion, all of those fill my head at the same time. I'm losing my temper. I curl my right hand into a fist as I walk tirelessly back and forth by the bed, wanting to punch something or somebody so badly. It's the worst feeling to be having first in the morning. Seconds later, it puts me in a complete halt when I hear her mutter. "I'm as hurt as you are, Higgs. I'm so sorry..." There's something in her words that just riles me up. The way she said it sounded too self-important as if she had seen everything with her own eyes. When in reality, I was the one who had seen it all—all of Eva's suffering. Yet, why does she even have to appear affected? I understand she has the reason to feel the same way as I do since she nurtured Eva when she was still in her womb. But I utterly can't fathom why she has to act distant and keep everything to herself. I go over to her again and say, "Lucy...when I called you, the doctor had said to me that Eva had gone blind and she wanted you to be by her side. Did you ever contemplate that call and realize her time was coming? You were the nearest to the hospital. I bought you your own car so you could come to her at any moment. But did you make an effort? Lucy...she was already dead when I got to that damn hospital! I didn't make it in time when you could've! So please, tell me you're not sorry. Tell me I'm the only one who's deeply hurt here! Tell me—" Lucy embraces me, burying her face in my chest. "I had to distance myself... because I couldn't bear to see Eva in her frail state. I had to numb my heart...because I knew that day would come. I was just scared to lose her." I push her off me. But then she clings back onto me. I can feel her grasp tightening around my waists. At that moment, for no reason, my tears decide to fall down my cheeks. I cry, "I was scared too! I always wanted you to be with me. But you never talked to me, even on the phone. We have each other's back. We should help each other remain strong. But why couldn't we suffer together? Why did you put it all on me?" "Your weary voice, Higgs. It could be a painful stab in my heart. Had I listened to you I would've been gone long before Eva died. I just couldn't hear anything from you and see Eva's suffering. Call me a coward. Leave me, hurt me, or even kill me if you must, so you may be free of my cowardice forever. I love both of you down to my very existence. But I really couldn't stand up against this nightmare. I'm so sorry, my dear Eva, Higgs. I'm so sorry." A phantasmagoria of our past flashes before my eyes. And I saw in that brief moment Lucy's life slipping away from my hands. I won't be able to keep my demons at bay if she's gone. I'll never let that happen. Not another one. Maybe being resentful of what she's done isn't the answer. Maybe understanding her is the right answer to this and I've been looking the other way all along. Maybe my attention has been focused too much on Eva that I've forgotten Lucy is just human, vulnerable to emotional pain. She might've needed someone to cope with, but I've always been at work, school, and the hospital and I couldn't ask how it's been going on for her—I forgot to take care of her. I don't care what she's done, even if it caused me 6 months of suffering. Eva's sacrifice is enough. I don't want to lose my wife too. I need her more than anyone else. I decide to forgive her. I wrap my arms around her and hug her tightly. "You don't have to be scared anymore. It's over," I say. Sobbing on my chest, she cries out, "I miss her so much, Higgs!" "She knows...she knows...we'll go visit her, okay? Just this once." "No. I can't! I might not—" I hold her closer to me. "No, Lucy. You can do it. And do it for Eva. I know you can." In the end, she agrees to make vigil with me. I wipe her tears and she wipes mine. And then we get changed and set out for the chapel.