However, I guess you were never really meant for us. On your tenth birthday, you felt severe headaches. The doctor's diagnose it as leukemia. Mom gasped and Dad held her while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling. At that moment, I loved you all the more. I couldn't even bear to leave your side. Then, the doctors told us that your only hope is to have a bone marrow transplant. You became the subject of a nationwide donor search. When we found the right match at last, you were too sick and the doctor reluctantly ruled out the operation. Since then, you underwent chemotherapy and radiation. Even at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a month before you died, you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do when you got out of the hospital. Two days after the list was completed, you asked the doctors to send you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the grass, flew kites, went fishing, took pictures of one another and let the balloons fly. I remember the last conversation that we had. You said that if you die and if I need of help, I could send you a note to heaven by tying it on the string of any balloon and letting it fly. I started crying when you said that. You hugged me. Then again, for the last time, you got sick. That last night, you asked for water, a back rub and a cuddle.
Finally, you went into a seizure with tears streaming down your
face. Later, at the hospital, you struggled to talk but the
words wouldn't come. I know what you wanted to say. From then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how to love life and live to the fullest. With your simplicity and honesty, you showed me a world full of love and care. You made me realize that the most important thing in this life is to continue loving without asking why or how and without setting any limit.
Thank you for all these, my little brother.
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