Yesterday, it was just the same old day. Could it get any better?

I was ten minutes late to my first lecture. Once I entered the room, the professor stared at me with hard eyes. He asked why I was late and I answered that I was stuck in traffic. He continued to berate me for not waking up early or something like that. Then, he asked me about the lecture. I knew him. If I was able to give the correct answer, then I'm saved. If not, then I get more of his bad side. My answer was only partially correct but it wasn't enough for him. After embarrassing me in front of everyone for a good two minutes, I was sent to my seat. My face was red and my palms were sweaty. It was morning and this has happened to me.

I had tried not to let it get to me but everything seemed to be tumbling down. Forgotten emails regarding presentations and assignments, getting scolded by more professors and even some of my seniors, and my only friend not there for me that afternoon to talk to. So I'm left with writing everything down here. Not that I don't like it! I mean, I can't get a response from you or something. But it's enough, I guess, to pour out my feelings here.

It had gotten worse though... My father called from the hospital and told me my brother wanted to see me. His voice sounded broken and my chest tightened. Immediately, I went to the hospital where my brother was confined.

It was called 'Ebstein's anomaly.' My mother died giving birth to my little brother and then the doctors found something wrong with him. He was able to live but when he was five years old, he started to have complications. They had to operate on him and miraculously, he survived the operation. But the miracle didn't last long. He started to get weaker as the years passed. Since then, he was in the hospital 24/7, in a bed all alone most of the day, and taking medication to give him more time to live.

I reached the hospital and went to the floor where my brother was. My father was there and my brother's doctor. "Did something happen to him?" I asked.

"Yes," said the doctor grimly. "His health is almost failing him completely. There's a probability that he's not going to make it in a few days."

I tried to compose myself. My nose started to sting and my eyes getting blurry from the tears developing. I was on the edge at his words.

"Does he know?" I asked with a slight crack in my voice.

"He knows he's sick. That's it," my father answered. "I couldn't say it to him."

I only nodded, too drained to say anything. They let me in the room and I saw my little brother sitting on his bed. He had gotten paler to the point that I could see a gray hue on his skin. He looked up and saw me. I noticed he moved slower as if the simplest movements were already too tiring. I smiled at him, trying not to let my emotions 0vercome me. He asked me if my day went good and I answered with a 'no.' Then, I told him about what happened at school. Even if he was younger, talking to him felt like talking to someone my age or maybe even older. He only listened until I stopped talking and then he would give a reaction or maybe even say a few words that oddly give me so much relief. After ranting to him for quite sometime, he only gave a pitying smile.

"That's awful," was all he said.

I held his hand, running my thumb on the back of it. It was silent in the room and so many thoughts came into my head. Imaginary images of his death and funeral were clouding my head and it tested my resistance to cry. I kept my head down in order to breathe normally and my breath hitched when my brother suddenly said something that struck a final blow to my heart.

"I know..." he said. "I know I don't have much left."

I raised my head, finally letting my tears fall. My brother started to cry too. I just held his hand tighter and sobs filled the room. He told me how he overheard the conversation between our father and the doctor. He told me he didn't want to leave us just yet. He told me he was scared. He was too young for this and my father and I were not ready to lose him.

My brother then told me he was sleepy. I helped him get comfortable on his bed, tucking him in. I softly ran my fingers through is hair and played with the strands. His eyes were drooping but they were still looking into mine.

"Could you play a song?" he asked me.

"Sure," I said.

I took out my phone from my pocket and played Miracles in December. He loves this song. Your song. He told me it calmed him the first time he heard it and when he couldn't sleep, I just played this for him and he would be asleep. 

"Thank you..." he whispered before closing his eyes.

I watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful with his soft face and the steady rise and fall of his chest. The ballad was playing in the background and at that moment, I hoped for something good to happen. I wanted a miracle to happen.

But the miracle didn't come that night.

And the next morning killed my heart along with my brother.

This morning felt like the song itself and with you singing it, I feel both comforted and it was as if you were crying with me too.

With all my heart,

Maya