Setting Sun

Jacinth Banite

Kneeling beside you, I hold your hands as they tremble on the armrest of your wheelchair. The air wrestled against your fragile breaths, enough for me to wish I could give all of mine. I dive deep into your eyes and drown in the waves of your slowed blinks, but your musing gaze remains uninterrupted from the melting, orange sky peering through the mid-sized window in front of you. I wonder what goes on within your mind. Maybe you are thinking about how beautiful this Thursday afternoon is, how the sun is about to set, or maybe you are just tired of moving the muscles in your body, wishing for a permanent and peaceful rest. It is in the same pair of eyes I’ve found the answer—you are chasing after your memories that are being taken away by the cruelty of time.

Wrinkling, like the texture of your skin, moments you shared with me still echo in your dreams. I felt ephemeral joy when you called me by my name that Monday evening. I rapture to hear those syllables again, but alas, what followed after was another truth piercing deeper in my chest.

“Michael, I would want you to wear your Tatay’s tie for your wedding day. Mmm?” you asked with a smile in your eyes, wearing that same excitement when you said it the first time ten years ago, a week before my wedding day. How I wish you still remember that moment when you beat my now wife and the mother of my children, Melinda, for crying the most.

“Yes,” I responded after a deep inhale. I kissed you on the forehead, just like you did to me back then. It was a moment I am certain you can no longer recall.

Weary, like your trembling knees, you linger in a time you cannot escape, nor do you desire to. You stay there with your boy, guiding him in his youth, reminding him about curfews since he always goes home late, or asking for the empty Tupperware he often forgets to put in the sink when he gets home from school.

“Are you going to Aldrin’s house?” you asked last Tuesday when I was about to leave for work, wearing my suit and tie. “Make sure you get home by 9 PM, Anak. Mmm?”

Except, your boy is now too old to spend the night over his high school friend’s house.

“I’ll be home soon, ‘Nay, wait for me,” I said. The words break around the edges as despair creeps in, but it registers in your ears as the excitement of a little boy, who can’t wait to leave.

Fading, like your vision, you lose your sight of reality. You filled Wednesday’s twilight with your phantom touches I have been waiting for so long, yet still made me scared for the day that would follow. I woke up to your soft voice humming my favorite lullaby. You filled the space by my side, holding me like I was still a newborn child. Before I knew it, as your hand tapped my chest in an attempt to bring me back to sleep, tears had already stained my pillow.

“Shhh. It’s okay,” you hushed reassuringly, “Nanay’s here now.” Your are eyes filled with so much happiness as you look into mine, your precious little boy. It was a kind of feeling I know you will later forget.

Kneeling beside you, I hold your hands as they tremble on the armrest of your wheelchair, and listen to your breaths as they shudder in agony. Your pensive gaze remains uninterrupted from the ocean-blue sky, peering through the mid-sized window in front of you. This Thursday afternoon is indeed beautiful. I squeeze your hands even tighter, collecting all my courage to speak. I’m scared that when I say what I have to say, I will completely lose you.

“Nay….”

Silence. Nothing.

“Nay…” A little louder this time.

Slowly, you detach your glance from the window and turn toward me. The smile in your eyes had faded along with the sun, replaced by an empty stare.

“Nay, the nurses are here. It’s time to go.” My heart aches at every word. You examine my face as if you’re measuring the spaces from the tip of my hair down to my chin, calculating the gap between my eyes. “They’re going to take good care of you there. We’ll visit you as often as we can.” It is a promise which your eyes do not believe in. They’re telling me I’m lying, but there is something else I would wish for to be a lie— your response as you loosen your grip, completely letting go of my hand.

“Who are you?”