The title is pretty extreme huh?

I didn't do it on purpose. I just reminded this that 4 years ago, my ill, belated uncle used to live in my house, but I never stepped into his room. My aunt who is a doctor visit him everyday to take care of him. I didn't dare to help her, because we are not really close and I don't want to mess up.

It was afternoon. I was preparing to go to my course, but I went to bathroom to take my comb which my sister used.

It was mizzling, and the floor was still wet from excessive rain water that splashed from an exposed space in my kitchen. I was about to take a mop to mop it off when I saw my uncle went out of his room, walking with shaky legs.

My aunt told me once to watch him not to walk by himself. So I tried to tell him to just go back to his room and let me take whatever he needed from the kitchen. But he refused. I insisted, so as he. He even yelled at me. So half heartedly I letted him. I watched him took a glass of water in a plastic glass.

Then, on his way back, he fell, on the slippery floor. I quickly helped him, my hands were shaking. After I did, I moped the floor and went off to my course place by my bicycle. On my way, my hands were shaking so badly and I couldn't have concetrate on my works.

He was almost 60 years old. AND he was ill. His walk was shaky. I knew something would be happen.

I was really scared and shocked that I couldn't tell my aunt about this. I didn't talk for the rest of the week, really. I was so shocked. I didn't tell everyone, not even my sisters and parents. I was the only one who knew it.

Two weeks later, I heard a shocking news. My uncle passed away. My aunt told me that he once told her that he fell. He didn't mention anything about me being there.

She also said according to doctor from the hospital the fall had a 75% chance to take his life.

It was my fault. My ing fault. I got traumatized so easily that I was even too afraid to tell my family. If I did, he might live longer and might be having a better relationship with me. Yes, I didn't know him too well, but he was my relative, nonetheless.

I'm a freaking murderer. I murdered someone because of my cowardness.

I'm sorry for the ramble. I can't let it bottled up inside me any longer. I just reminded to this when I read a health article. The memory deleted for a little time as I moved from my old house, but suddenly it popped up again.

Gosh, I'm a murderer. And it was my relative...