My dearest departed cousin,

Embarking on the uncharted journey of expressing my feelings to you after your untimely departure, I find myself grappling with the magnitude of the void you’ve left behind. The weight of grief is a burden I never truly comprehended, and yet, here I am, attempting to navigate its intricate labyrinth.

In an attempt to tread lightly on the solemn grounds of sorrow, let’s first venture into the realm of joyous recollections—those fragments of time that paint the canvas of our shared existence. Do you recall the enchanting wedding of Uncle Brodie, where we, as the flower girl and boy, wove innocence and charm into the tapestry of that unforgettable day? The beauty of our synchronicity transcended our shared age; however, a delightful quirk emerged—despite being peers, I found myself towering over you in stature. The incongruity added an endearing charm to our roles as pint-sized custodians of floral splendour. Though my memories of those moments are now veiled in a gentle haze, the image of two adorable children dutifully following instructions persists—a snapshot of our shared childhood. As we traverse the landscape of these evocative memories, Uncle Brodie’s wedding emerges as a cornerstone—a celebration where innocence and charm converged, etching an ineffable imprint on our shared existence.

December 31st, 2018, emerges as a beacon of joy in the recollection of your birthday celebration. A fortuitous reunion with a preschool friend added an unexpected twist to the festivities. Your infectious happiness permeated the room, creating an indelible memory of my first New Year’s countdown—a celebration that transcended the ticking of the clock.

Then there was the kaleidoscopic celebration of Chinese New Year at your home, where the laughter of cousins intertwined with the spirited play of cards. You, a vibrant 15-year-old at the time, injected a contagious exuberance into the gathering. Please pardon the jest in calling you 15 before your birthday; it’s a playful nod to the anticipation of the celebrations yet to come.

However, the vivacity of these special moments unravelled with the onset of your first headache—an ominous precursor to the tumultuous journey that awaited. News of your temporary loss of consciousness and vision cast a shadow, and though I can never truly fathom your experience, rest assured that my worry for you knew no bounds.
A month elapsed before the disquieting revelation of a suspected tumour. Panic gripped my heart as I contemplated the potential implications, realising that my fear could never match the magnitude of what you must have been going through. The subsequent revelation of a high likelihood of a stage 4 brain tumour through your brain scan result was met with a cascade of tears—a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.

The narrative took a poignant turn on a rainy day when I visited your house. Heavy air surrounded me as I stood next door at your grandparents’ house, invited by your grandfather with a bottle of liquor in hand. My anticipation mingled with the raindrops as I approached, only to find a changed version of you behind the door, engaged in conversation with your grandmother. The fleeting joy of you remembering my name was a brief respite, shattered when your mother descended the stairs in tears—an ominous harbinger of the unfavourable report.

That encounter remains etched in my memory as the last time I saw you awake.

A whirlwind of panic ensued with the distressing call from your parents, prompting an immediate rush from my own, the proximity of our homes amplifying the urgency. The following day, I masked the knowledge of your hospitalisation, a facade maintained as I ventured to school. The revelation of your dilated pupils, a silent marker of the storm raging within, was met with unspoken tears in the solitude of the classroom.

The gravity of your situation unfolded, marking a painful hiatus in our interactions. The first-hand account of your condition came to me through my father on the way to school, leaving me grappling with the reality of your precarious hold on life. The turmoil of emotions found an unspoken outlet, concealed behind the veneer of normalcy presented to the outside world.

A poignant invitation to visit you at the hospital arose, and though forewarned by my mother about the potentially alarming sight of you intubated in the ICU, I embraced the opportunity, recognizing it might be our last encounter. Amidst our other cousins, the anticipation of the visit lingered until the designated time arrived. I entered with my mother, allowed into the sanctum of the two-person visiting limit.

Prepared as I was to convey a multitude of sentiments, words deserted me in the face of your compromised state. A frozen smile concealed the churning emotions within, and the realisation that this might be our final meeting robbed me of the eloquence I had rehearsed. Regret now echoes within me for failing to articulate everything I wished to share during that fleeting moment—the last time I saw you alive.

The subsequent unravelling of events heightened the emotional maelstrom. The unplugging, attended by our older cousins, marked a heartbreaking goodbye. Your wake extended across three emotionally charged nights, where shared memories with a primary schoolmate offered a bittersweet respite—a collective mourning for the void you left in our lives.

The day of your cremation saw me prioritising your importance over school events. As the flames embraced your earthly remains, the reality of our collective loss hit me with an intensity likened to a relentless bullet train.
Oh my darling sweet cousin, why must it be you?

We love you so much. Everyone misses you so much. Your absence continues to reverberate as an indelible ache within our hearts.

I promise we will always remember you and honour your memories. I’ll take care of your sisters for you and teach them what you couldn’t, I promise.

Do you know what I regret the most?

I didn’t get to embrace you one last time when I saw you awake.

Goodbye for the last time.
Renée