I was fine.

I was telling my mother how beautiful her dress was. I was looking at her hands, the chipped nail polish. She had been rejecting her looks. She always believed that no matter what, looking good should always be first priority.

I guess, when you have a dying son, that does not imply.

She was forcing a smile, while my dad was outside, crying. How ironic. He was the one who used to tell me that men should be strong for their wives. I would have scoffed if I had the energy. I would have asked what other lies my dad had told me before. But I didn’t, because I was clinging to whatever hope I had of going to heaven.

After I accepted death, I also accepted the possibilities of heaven and hell. I had to cling to something. I had to at least have some kind of hope about the afterlife.

I had been asleep for a while and when I opened my eyes I saw my mother with her head bowed, praying. She was holding onto Dad’s hand and he was holding onto my girlfriend’s. One of Mum’s hands was on my stomach and I held it.

But then the world went black. Before that, I heard the machine start to loudly beep and I could faintly hear the voices of everyone as they panicked.

I couldn’t feel anymore. I could only see darkness… No. White. It was white that I was seeing.