“Mummy help!” came the erratic voice of my son as he bravely fought his last fight. The last fight of life. It had barely been minutes the attack came back, but the pain on my child’s face told me that he wouldn’t last.
A few months ago, it’s been an axiom that Victor had what everyone dreaded…cancer, but right now it was clear. It had eaten him away slowly but painfully, the brain tumor, leaving back a boy I hardly recognized.
Running behind the tall paramedic as he pulled oxygen mask over Victor’s nose, I couldn’t help but allow the tears to fall. This looked like a drama performed by entertainers on stilts, except that I was aware that my child was far from being an entertainer, he was simply letting go of the hands of life. No artist would perform on a stage with an ambulance and with such sorrow, panic and pain.
I ran frantically, circling the ambulance in utmost confusion as I tried to get hold of my son’s frail hands, knowing it might be the last I remember. Not wanting to think yet of what my community would presume I had done with my son’s life, I prayed to God to preserve him. They always had these shallow thoughts of women killing their children for ulterior motives, but that was far from being my problem right now. I had loved him so much that even if I had to lay down mine to save him, I would have done that immediately.
The fit hit him hard again, nearly startling the life out of me but bringing me back to the real world, but at the same time bringing me face to face with what I feared most . The paramedic pulled me away and as I sprawled on the floor wailing, looking at the face of the boy I had named Victor. He didn’t look the name at all, but one thing I can never forget was that look of undeniable pain, yet love registered on his eyes as they turned white and rolled back into his head.