Because I could not stop for Death,

He kindly stopped for me.

The Carriage held but just ourselves

And Immortality

~Emily Dickinson

More than a hundred and fifty thousand people die every day. More than six thousand die every hour and more than a hundred every minute as we speak.

The thing about loving people is, you would think they will always be there. But this is the harsh reality—people die. And I learned that the hard way.

I was in second grade when I got called to the principal's office for the first time. I had never been a trouble-maker, so it was strange. To be honest, I couldn't get out of my seat when the teacher told me to go. Somehow, I knew that that day was going to be unique. And it wasn't just because it was my eighth birthday.

Somehow, I made it to the door. As I stepped out, the teacher called my attention.

"I'm sorry, Aramis," she said, although she didn't say why.

I could hear my heart ramming inside my throat as I walked the long hallway to the principal's office. No matter how much I slowed my steps trying to delay the inevitable, I got there.

From the upper glass panel of the door, I could see my father sitting in front of Principal Wilkins. They were talking, having these grave expressions that scared me. For about ten seconds, I stared at doorknob, wondering if I should come in.

The principal's assistant cleared her throat, gesturing at me to enter. I was forced to go in and as I did, Dad and Principal Wilkins both looked at me. The principal gestured for me to sit beside my father, which I did.

"You can go home now, Aramis," Principal Wilkins said, smiling ruefully. "I've arranged for you to be excused for the rest of the week."

I was about to ask why when Dad took my hand and towed me to the door. Before we could get out of the room, Principal Wilkins got out of his swiveling chair and caught up with us.

"Aramis! Mr. Rayne! Wait," he called, offering a hand to my dad. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Dad's hand was trembling when he let go of mine to face the principal. Next thing I knew, his fist had already collided with Principal Wilkins' face. The principal staggered back and hit the floor, looking dumbfounded.

"My wife's still alive, you bastard!" Dad growled.

Principal Wilkins spat on the ground and pointed angrily at us. His gums were bleeding. Blood sputtered from his mouth as he yelled at us to get out and never come back. Right then and there, I got expelled. For the first time.

It wasn't common for Dad to get angry, much less hit people. In fact, he had always seemed to be silent, composed. But I knew exactly why he lost his temper. When it came to Mom, it had always been a touchy subject for him.

Mom was sick. Very. I heard it was lupus and she had been going in and out of the hospital for several years because of it. But lately, she had grown very weak that she had to stay in the hospital indefinitely. The decline in her health was so drastic it devastated the both of us. But mostly Dad.

The doctors kept saying that lupus was supposed to be a manageable illness. But for some reason, Mom wasn't getting better. And the more treatments she got, the more pain she seemed to be in.

She had never complained about it. Not even once. All she did was force a smile while telling Dad and me to take care of each other when she's gone.

Dad was devastated.

Frankly, I had always thought she had stopped fighting long before. That she was fed up. That as difficult as it might seem, she had already accepted her imminent death.

I used to cry whenever she talked like that. I loved her so much and I just couldn't bear to think that she would have to leave us so soon.

When we arrived at the hospital, Mom was in a stretcher, being transported out of the intensive care unit. It was a relief, really. She had been sleeping for the last three days. They kept saying that she was brain-dead and Dad had always been furious whenever he heard the word.

It was my birthday present. Mom was going to be okay because I prayed so hard every night before I slept. I never asked for any gift except this, and God had granted it. At least, that was what I thought.

As Dad rushed to talk to the doctors, I went to Mom's room and stood excitedly at her bedside. I hadn't been this close to her lately since children weren't allowed inside the ICU. Her emaciated face, the dark bags under her eyes, her withered arms made me want to cry more. But I knew that would only upset her.

She would always say, "Never forget to smile, little princess. Don't cry. Smile, because I know fate will give you a very, very long life." I didn't know exactly what that meant but I believed her.

Slowly, she opened her tired eyes to smile at me. I laid my head against her chest and embraced her as far as my short arms could reach.

"I'm happy you woke up for me, Mom," I told her, sniffling.

Mom draped her frail arms over me, her shallow breaths playing on my hair. "Anything for you, little princess. That's how much I love you. Happy birthday."

"I love you too," I answered, lifting my head to give her one of my best smiles. "Are you hungry? We brought cake."

"No, sweetie," she breathed out, momentarily resting her weary eyes before looking at the door urgently. "Can you please call Daddy for me?"

Reluctantly, I jumped down from her bed and headed outside. Dad was still talking to the doctor in a hushed tone. Judging by the heated exchange between the two, it was turning into an argument.

"What do you mean she requested it? Talk to me, Stephen!" Dad hissed. "You don't let a disoriented patient decide on her own!"

Doctor Brandt shook his head calmly. "Listen, Marcel. Lisanna is nowhere near disoriented. I've already explained all the risks to her and she made it clear. She wants out of intensive care. She knows what she's doing."

"She doesn't!" Dad raised his voice. "You said it yourself! She won't last long without those... those things attached to her. Stephen, please."

The nurses stopped what they were doing to gape at Dad. Doctor Brandt let out a tired sigh and opened the clipboard he was carrying. He began scribbling something on it before finally facing my dad with a resigned look.

As I was waiting for the right timing to interrupt, I took a quick glimpse of Mom through the glass panels of her room. I saw someone standing beside her bed when I didn't remember seeing anyone enter through the door.

Hurriedly, I ran back into the room. There was someone else in there, alright.

Before I stepped in, Mom was talking with the stranger. Yet, when I closed the door behind me, they both fell very quiet. Adults were always like that. They never let me in on anything.

The stranger was a tall man in his early thirties. He was wearing a black suit. I had only seen people wear those in formal parties like weddings. Or in funerals. His raven hair was carefully swept to the back of his head and there was this aristocratic air about him.

For some reason, he looked almost troubled as his silvery-gray eyes swept to my direction. I couldn't be entirely sure since it was all fuzzy to me now. For a second, I froze, having this strange urge to stare at his beautiful face.

With a smile, he whispered to Mom's ear "It's time."

"I know," she answered unblinkingly.

All of a sudden, the window flung open, letting a cold gust of winter into the room. Worried that Mom might get cold, I hurried to the window and on my tippy-toes, pulled the shutters close. Then, I pulled the blinds down. When I turned back to them, the man was gone without a trace.

Weird. I didn't hear the door open. Or close. It was like he just vanished into thin air, which I knew was perfectly impossible. Absently, I puffed my inhaler into my mouth, both terrified and confused. Then I ran to Mom's side and hugged her so tight.

"W-who was that, Mom?"

Mom gazed at me for a little while, her storm-blue eyes glassy. With her trembling fingers, she touched my cheek. A sad little smile curved her pale, cracked lips.

"An old friend..." she rasped. Slowly, she reached out for my hand and held it firmly. "Be good..."

Those were her last words before her lids fell and her body turned limp. I had never seen her so peaceful. Finally, all her suffering was put to an end. At that moment, I didn't know which was colder: my mother's hand or the snow outside?

I wish I could say that life is a story that concludes with "and they lived happily ever after", but no. Our stories go on and on until our last breath. In the end, it is not the ending that matters because eventually and inevitably, all of us—including me—will die.

I knew Death would someday come for me. But I didn't expect it to be this early.