When I was 16 years old, my aunt got breast cancer. The chemotherapy was too painful that she decided to stop it. She moved into a hospice and died there.
She had no kid so she took me and my brother as her own children. I was closer to her than my own mom. She was a positive person, always made us laugh and dragged us to do fun stuff with her. She was the presentation of joy to me. She was the strength of my life and she helped me go through my grandfather's death. When she was dying, I got so scared and panicked. She was the one who used to help me go through all the difficulties in life, but now she's dying, I had no idea who I should turn to and I was so lonely and scared.
I went to see her in the hospice once with my family. She was so pale, skinny, and weak. Even she was smiling all the time, I could see her exhaustion and sadness in her eyes. I got so scared of seeing her like this. So I never went to visit her again, I indulged myself with school works and kept lying to myself that she'd get better and eventually life would go back to normal. We would go picnic again just like how we used to. Eventually, she died and I got the phone call when I was hanging out with my friends.
I can't forgive myself that I never visited her again. And my school was so close to her hospice... I was just so terrified to see her became so weak and pale. Twelves years have passed now, I can't stop thinking how disappointed she must be when she's lying in the hospice and her beloved niece never came to visit her and be with her... Am I a terrible person? Am I the only one who's so coward that I couldn't face the fact my aunt was dying and help her go through the final days of her life? There was a certain point I think I unconsciously truly convinced myself that one day I woke up and she'd be all healthy like she used to be... Twelve years have passed, tears drop every time I think about her. I really wish I was older when she was dying. When I was more mature and know better about death.
