The night I was to watch a man die.

Last night a man was taken off life support. That man was my uncle. On other nights I would be off to watch a movie in the theatre, but that night I was to watch a man die.

I know I'm young and have much to learn. But I realized, as my mother heaved, crying for her brother ,that pain has many layers. I realized that the pain I felt for my mother was more than what I feel often in my own experiences of pain. I couldn't do anything for her. My words and comfort could never heal her pain and in that I felt a pain so deep and helpess. A sense of despair that all I could do was witness her grieving.

I sat and waited. I never saw a person die. Take their last gulps of breath. I was petrified. I kept trying to think of it as natural. Eating, sleeping..dying. They took him off of the oxygen and he began to gulp for breath. It was terrifying. We said prayers around him and our family all put our hands on his chest. He kept breathing. Gulping for breath, but continuing on.

I went to watch a man die. But he I never saw it. Instead then, I saw my family together around him sharing stories and memories, realizing that death also is not something sad. That it brings family together , I felt a bit guilty when we were laughing about memories but then I knew he'd want to be passing while surrounded by laughter.

It's an odd thing, death. My mother says she's not scared of it. When I googled death I see why society seems so frightened with the dark, foreboding images.

 My uncle is continuing to breathe his last breathes. I guess he wanted to give me a show afterall. Our family are fighters, even when death is our standing opponent.