Sorry I didn't cry at your funeral...

It's been 3 years since you left us.
Since that monster took your last breath. You fought like a brave warrior on the battlefield. For months and months.
But you kept losing.

And we kept losing pieces of the image we had painted of you all these years.
Of that strong, selfless man who did everything and more to support us. Who taught us so much and who was always proud of us.

It was so sudden when things changed. You weren't the same. You grew tired. Your skin turned a sick pale yellow. And you lost so much weight. When I took a photo of us, you couldn't recognise yourself. "What has happened to me?", you said, and I struggled to hold back my tears.

You got so weak, you couldn't even stand. Mum would scold you like a child every time you wet the bed. But you couldn't help it. You were so, so embarrassed...

And it got worse... The monster was spreading in your body like black ink on a white page.
You stopped eating. You stopped talking. I would visit your room and you would stare blankly at the ceiling, as if weren't there at all.

Grandma stayed awake every night to check up on you- do you know that she still can't sleep at night? She loves you so much.
That day you called her and she was so happy. You squeezed her hand with your remaining strength and told her to take care of us and that you loved us more than anything in the world...
You knew.

Sorry I didn't cry at your funeral. I tried to be a strong girl like you taught me. But truth is, I am weak.

Sorry I felt nauseous at the sight of your pale emotionless face that morning. And then, at the touch of your cold, so cold soulless flesh when I kissed you goodbye.

But most of all, sorry for never saying that I loved you. Because I do. So much.
And now it's too late...

//optimistic pessimist//