My last memory with him was having cold supper in the dining room before each of us went to bed. We didn’t talk. I was busy thinking about the test I was to face in school the following day. He was not in a good mood, considering the mysterious illness he was having. We finished our meal. He went to his room. I went to mine.
I never saw him again as living man.
Many times, when I remember that last night with my late brother, I wish I could change the hands of time and make that last moment meaningful. I wish I could say something that would cheer him up, or do something that he would appreciate, or just say how much I actually cared for him.
But time never takes us back. It shoves us forever onward. Whatever grievances or regret we have in the past can only be recompensed by living the future, by learning from the pain, by being a better person.
It has been over twelve years since the morning God took him away. As time passes, I learn that it’s vain to remain in regret. Rather, I realize that what I should do is looking forward to a joyful reunion one day.
I live on, trying to do the best while the sun still shines on me, becoming the person I know he would be proud to call his sister. I know one fine day – one never-ending day – I’ll see him again… and that time, without slightest regret and aggravation.
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