My friend, Thang, passed away last Sunday. I was hoping to see him again in London before I boarded on the plane, planning buying another set of DVDs so we can watch together in his Newbury Park flat. Just 2 days before my trip, I received the emails from his family saying that he's in the intensive unit back in his hometown Phileadaphia and it's going to be his last few days alive on this planet.
31 of the age, he struggled with this acute lymphatic luekimia for 1 and half years. I was very angry when knowing he's fallen seriously ill last year, he had every right to live, to have a normal life, fighting with his wife, kids, getting old, wrinkly and naggy, then die with all his family and friends around him. As time progressed seeing him being tortured by chemo theropy and god-knows-what drugs the doctors gave him, I still had hope that all these pains and suffer will pay off one day when he is healthy and building up his muscles again.
I am not sure how to feel, feeling happy that he is not suffering anymore and, at the same time, feeling truely depressed because there is indeed no hope for his recovery.
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