His body shook violently from side to side blood and froth gurgled freely out of his mouth. He was writhing in pain, hands clasping onto his chest and his face was contorted in a picture of pure pain. Panic, bordering on hysteria, set in. I was caught off guard by this sudden relapse. I panicked, not knowing what to do yet afraid that touching him might further aggravate his pain. Time seemed to stretch into infinity before the ambulance arrived.

I sat on the swivel chair at the doctor’s desk, my hands gripping the soft black leather handles of the chair. The doctor sunk back into his huge brown leather chair, clearing his throat before he began to speak.

“Mr. Foo, according to the scan results, your son is suffering for cystic fibrosis, whereby his lungs will not be able to perform their function. There is no cure for….” I was no longer hearing the doctor. The pain that surged through my veins found its way to my heart, repeatedly stabbing it until I could no longer tolerate it. I felt total, pure disillusionment and my stomach churned in bitter bile. Why was this happening? Why, of all people, Terry? The fact sent an immense bang into my head, stabbing it with thousands of knifes.

“…..don’t keep your hopes high. In fact, there is no hope unless a donor turns up. We have already placed him on the waiting list. All you can do is wait and care for him. Or maybe you can consider putting him to sleep forever.” Something within me snapped as the words “no hope” registered. Still in a state of daze, I stumbled out of the room and to the intensive care unit. The constant beeping sound of the heart rate monitor was the only sound sharp enough to slice through the deadly silence that washed over the nauseating atmosphere.

My sixteen-year old son, Terry, laid stiffly, like a corpse if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, across the hospital bed, white sheets pulled all the way to his chin, with lots of machines attached to him. He looked extremely vulnerable and fragile, that the slightest wind would blow him into pieces. My heart ached at the sight of this and wrenched in pain at each beeping sound. He had been so alive just a few hours ago. He still has had so many years ahead of him, supposedly. What will happen to me if he was gone? His mother died of an illness when he was one year old, leaving us, father and son, to rely on each other.

“Papa, You are my father, my friend and my hope. I love you.”
“I love you too, Terry. I am and forever will be your hope.”

Memories of a happier age came charging like a red bull. Unable to contain my emotions, I felt my eyes clouding over. I sat on the small stool by the hospital bed, listening to his ragged breathing but not daring to look at his form. When I finally, reluctantly, brought my eyes to his still form, the laborious sigh that have been struggling to hold back finally escaped from the confines of my lungs.

The circumstances seemed so bleak, like we could not even hope for a ray of sunlight to break through. ‘There is no hope…Papa you are my hope.’ Their words kept on repeating inside my head, making my head as heavy as a rock. I felt so useless and helpless that I could not do anything, except to wait hopelessly. Where is hope, when I need it the most? I almost slapped myself for contemplating to end his life selfishly. Hope in reality is the worst of all evils, because it prolongs the torments of man. ‘Unless a donor…’ All of a sudden, I recalled the doctor’s words…

As I looked endearingly at my fragile Terry, I knew it was necessary. Trying hard to hold back my tears, I planted a lingering kiss on his forehead. Then I darted out of the room.

Slowly, cautiously, I took it out of my coat and raised it to my temple. I felt it gently touching my skin. My eyes squeezed shut and my teeth bit into my lower lip. “I love you too, Terry. I am and forever will be your hope.” Forever, I had promised him then. Hope knows no limit to its endurance, its trust and it will never fade away: it outlast everything. Hope still stand when all else has fallen. I said it silently as if hoping Terry could hear it and I squeezed the trigger.