Hope is all that is keeping us alive

A mysterious guy you couldn't predict his next move, and that was the main thing that would attract you to him, he was handsome, polite, lived a simple life despite being the son of a rich man, and he could have anything he wanted, but all he cared about are poor and modest people, he would always donate from his pocket money, and spend the night out, not in night-clubs, but chilling outside with the security guard of his neighborhood, talking about life, making jokes, playing checkers .. Modesty was his virtue among many he had. He was a family member, but I never looked at him less than a brother, he was the first and last person I could confidently call a best friend.

I remember when we were kids, we used to hang out at his place and play video games, our favorite were Battlefield 2 and Need For Speed Underground 2, and when we get tired we would listen to our favorite songs from Wu Tang Clan to The Cranberries over that speaker made in the shape of dancing Coca-cola can, it had some funny moves, but I never liked it, each move was making a loud noise overwhelming the song. We would also go out early in the morning to a nearby olives field and try to catch birds in their nests while they’re still sleeping, we’d release them later, and sometimes we come back home with some eggs from these nests, and he would make us an omelette from that, all with mint tea, I still have the taste of that on the tip of my tongue.

He was so understanding to a point that if I wasn't feeling okay, he never asks me to talk it out my chest, he would just crack a joke and we both burst laughing to tears. He was that kind of men who never let their feelings get the best of him, he would be in agony but never discloses it, all you’ll see is a smile on his face, he believed in hope, and that things can only get better.

But at some point, men succumb to the pressure. His mother fell sick and he would see her everyday suffering from a disease no doctor could diagnose, something choking her at random moments of the day, and all he could do was sitting next to her and praying this one wouldn't leave her lifeless, everyday was like this for him, he was a tough man, but like all of us, he had a soft spot for people in a suffering, let alone his own mother. She had no hope, she was going to die eventually and he could do nothing about it.

A broken promise:

A Friday evening, I went to spend some time with him, his mother was doing some time at the hospital, he was at home with our aunt, she made coffee, and he made his favorite meal, omelette and sausage, and for being the mysterious man he is, he kept cracking jokes, and pretending he isn't dying from the inside for his mother, but I knew.

When I had to go back home, he called me back and insisted on me to comeback to his place the day after to chill around like we used to, I promised him to do so. I didn’t. And it’s been eating me from the inside for the last 6 years.

The day later, on Saturday, he called my brother and asked him to meet, they spent some time around his place, and everything seemed to be normal. Although, calling my brother at the end of the evening was something unusual from him.

On Sunday, as I was eating breakfast, at 11:15am, the phone rang, he’s no more. He’s gone. He was 21 years old. He took away his own life. He wanted to go first, rather than having to deal with his mother’s death. She died a year later.

I looked at my crying cousin (not his sister) who answered the phone, stared at her for a moment, and finished my breakfast, like nothing happened. I’ve been numb for the next three days, not showing any sign of grief. Because I had hope that it’s all not true, he was a religious man, it’s impossible he would do that. Even at his home, when I was ‘forced’ by my parents to go there and assist on the funerals, nothing could move me to tears, his home looked empty despite visitors, but I always had the hope of him coming through the door, and that the funerals were for someone else. But then, at the end of the third day, I succumbed too, and succumbed badly, I cried, spent sleepless nights, ate nothing for the next month, and especially, I was angry at him and how selfish he was.

6 years later:

I came to terms with what he had to do, I understand him now, because since he was gone, I lost many dear people to me, some of them are dead and some are still alive, and I have no hope of connecting with them again. Not saying I might do what he had done, I am not going to expose my loved ones to the suffering people who loved him had to deal with, maybe I am emotionally stronger than him, because now I realized that hope is all what is keeping us alive, the hope of seeing someone again, the hope of achieving a lifetime goal, the hope of marrying the person we love, any kind of hope can keep us going despite life’s constant sorrow. And I am in a constant quest for any kind of hope I can find, because if physical death is mandatory, spiritual and psychological death is optional, and I am not going to let that happen, and it’s something I wish I could go back in time and teach it to him.

Our life is the most precious thing we have, we care too much about keeping that heart beating. All our fears and phobias make our hearts beat faster because we don’t want to die, it doesn’t matter if it’s a fear of heights, or a claustrophobia, or an entomophobia, they all add up to one big fear, which is fear of death. And no man would take away his own life if he had nothing to lose already, if he had no hope left, if his heart was dead already and taking away his own life wouldn't make a difference for him.