I knew Chanhee had a weak heart.

I knew he didn’t run around and play sports like other kids because he was always short of breath.

I knew he would tell me he was dizzy often, ever since he was a kid.

I knew sometimes his face cringed, and he grabbed his chest and started to breath heavily.

I knew I should have known that something was wrong.

But I didn’t.

He had a serious case of arrhythmia. His heart wasn’t functioning the way it’s supposed to. Apparently he was born with a weak heart. And the environment he grew up with and the stress that an 8 year old should not have dealt with made it worse.

Chanhee needed treatment. He needed medication. He needed family. But I was the only one.

I was deep in my thought, seated next to Chanhee’s bed, and then I realized that the girl was still here: seated across from me. She was looking at Chanhee, as if he was her own little brother. What was she doing here anyways? Maybe she was just waiting for the right moment to wish me luck and leave. Just like almost everyone else in my life.

“My mother had cancer.” She suddenly spoke, breaking the heavy silence.

“She died last month.” Now she was looking out the window. Into the distance, almost as if she was reaching for the sight of her mother.

“I watched someone I love the most slowly die.” This time I saw her eyes filled with tears. She was holding it back. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I could do to make her feel better.

She wiped her own tears and took a deep breath.

“Don’t lose hope. Give him the medication he needs, give him the treatment he needs. He can be cured. Don’t let—”

She turned her head towards me. Our eyes met for the second time.

“Don’t let him die.”

That’s when I realized the most important purpose in my life.

To save the ones I love. To pull through with what she had asked me to do.