It was after noon, I already had my belly full from lunch and I think I was playing Witcher 3 on my computer when my father entered the room and simply announced that a friend of his had died.
For a second of interval to digest it, I pictured each one of his friends that I could remember until he gave his name away. My father wasn’t particularly sad I thought, perhaps shocked, more than anything else. When he told me the name of his friend, the first thing that had appeared in my mind was suicide for the cause of death.
Last time I’ve heard of him, he was unemployed, divorced, certainly there wasn’t much happiness on his life. “Did he kill himself?” – I asked to my father, somewhat without regard of his feelings.
“He died of cancer, already spread across a great portion of his body.” My father replied and after a small pause he continued. “I called him last month, I heard he was in the hospital and he said that he was taking serum that it was nothing. And after all he was taking chemotherapy sessions.” Then I said that perhaps it was his wish to maintain it a secret, so that he wouldn’t bother anyone with it. My father then left the room without another word.
I don’t think I’d be able to contain such a burden. But then again, I’m not around fifty or so years, who knows what I’ll think or feel when and if I get there?