My older sister died of breast cancer. My sister was diagnosed with
triple negative metastatic breast cancer. Life, Love, Peace and Freedom, in my definition, has been an extremely sufficient subject matter. My
heart has still been confused. This heart couldn't have believed that my
older sister Bimala died of breast cancer a month ago. It is how a
strange thing having a lonely experience. But today, it is being felt
that these all have added more pain.
'Your older beautiful sister'--my heart had been depressed and stunned
with this incomplete sentence of my brother before the telephone ring . 'What trouble has occurred to my
sister?' To answer my question brother spoke without taking a breath. 'She was a great woman and she had been battling cancer. We lost her
today.' My brother did not complete his sentence.
My sister was an energetic and a very beautiful young woman and everyone
would respect her.
Really, older sister Bimala was so beautiful and bright
as the moon in the mid-night. Her face was still brightened with
happiness. I can't even imagine what might have happened to my family
has left this earth. My heart is burning. Heart is aching and I have
lost energy completely to console the heart. Frequently, heart is not
accepting the death of my sister. It has been three years since she
spoke without taking a breath. From that very day I said that, she was
really not only a woman with an ordinary heart, she was a brave woman.
"Why my sister died? My heart voice made even sorry to myself? 'Cancers
are above the law and cure.' Father expressed dissatisfaction. Father
also did not wish to talk much and put down the phone. The last year in
the month of March, my sister had come to visit my
mother. She had talked with mother with the same cheerful and active
manner. 'When we were born we came with empty hands and we will go with
the same empty hands. Therefore, it is not good to die for wealth.' she
added to the satisfaction in that evening. 'The short life is to laugh
only. Oh, how pleasant that evening was! In the shining moon of the
evening children were playing on the yard, green trees in the distance,
the sounds of birds... The whole
city had been full of music.
'I'm a lucky mother, for I have a
daughter like Bimala. It might be the result of the past life's deed to
get a good daughter who supports in happiness and in trouble.' My
mother had spoken looking from the corner of her eyes to her. 'It is
not to give support in the time of need,' she had responded.
'What was the fault of my beautiful sister?' I put cross-question to
myself but I don't have the answer because there is no one who
understands the value of the death of my sister. The number-one kind and
helpful sister, the beloved who would treat equally to the poor or
and big or small. No one could be satisfied without coming at her
house to talk every day from children to the bed-ridden old ones.
'Nowadays, I am in pain. I am battling breast cancer. One should go for
hospital putting life on the palm.' Ever cheerful face of my sister, on
the Friday morning was looked down. She said with darkening face, 'I
might die' without completing her sentence; her eyes came to be
filled and broke into tears like a small child. Up to this my age, I
never had seen her weeping so heart-brokenly. Instantly, mother also had
started weeping with her.
My sister had made clear in letter of twenty/twenty five days before--'spend your life with full enjoyment, Kamala! I would like to give
you best wishes for your happy life. I am in dilemma and in pain. To
whom should I tell the pain? I have begun to feel better to die than
live.' This way she had written a short and incomplete letter.
I'm analyzing the difference between living in a happy moment and in a
sad moment, 'Listen, one day, we all should go leaving the earth and we
can't stay here in this earth forever though we desire it. Your older
sister went sooner and counting today and tomorrow we also shall go one
day.' My friend again began to console me trying to remove my sadness.
This moment, happiness has disappeared on the face of me. While
consoling me there is tears in my eyes and my voice is trembling. The
photo of sister taken is hung on the northern wall in the room. Now, my
eyes have stilled on the photo. I am weeping incessantly keeping the
photo on my chest.
(Article changed on March 25, 2016 at 18:40)
(Article changed on March 25, 2016 at 18:41)
Journalist, poet and editor Kamala Sarup specializes in reporting news and writing stories covering Freedom, Peace, Public health, Democracy, Women/Children, development, justice and advocacy from her location inside the United States. Human (more...)