Sins clung to his soul and weighed him down like the cold sweat on his pale skin. Gabriel stared up at the migraine-inducing fluorescent lights with dark, deadened eyes. The light never bothered him; in fact, he was always surprised to see it whenever it blurred into his vision. Like most young boys, Gabriel was terrified of the dark, even when it brought him rest. Even the woman who devoted her life to healing him was always black-clad, and it gave him too much of a creeping feeling in his very core. Her wrinkly old fingers cupped his face, then she closed her eyes and prayed. As she did every single day, every morning, every night. She prayed for his health, prayed for his ability to one day live a normal life.
Gabriel had never known such a life. He had been in and out of hospitals and medical treatments for as long as he could remember. His memories of his parents were very faint; but he would never forget the worry and love on their faces when they hovered over him. And he would never forget the absolute devastation when his grandmother appeared, and gave him the news that he would never see his mother and father ever again. He would never see the inside of a hospital again either. His grandmother believed nothing but prayer and faith in God would be his savior. As much as Gabriel tried and tried to believe in her ways, in God, he was constantly disproved and disappointed.
So much so, he began to believe that God hated him. He was being punished for crimes he didn’t know he committed. More often than not, he lay crying, wondering what he had done to deserve such pain, such a bedridden life. And eventually he came to the conclusion that his very existence was at fault. He blamed himself for the tragedy of his parents’ passing. Being a child, not understanding that humans do eventually pass away naturally… seeing his grandmother withering away day by day made him hurt inside. He was doing this to her. His existence was fueled by taking hers. He couldn’t bear to see her, see everyone he cared about dying only for him. Because of him.
So, most days, as he got older and sicker, he prayed for his own death.
He prayed to God every day when his grandmother prayed for him. But God hated him, and his grandmother never got better. All he wanted was for her suffering to end, and he vowed that if God granted him that-- he would devote his life to Christianity.
He was declared illness-free the day she passed away.
Gabriel stood at the side of his grandmother’s deathbed, the last of their family to remain. He pressed his lips to her forehead as she used to do when he was little, and she took her last breath. She was smiling, clutching her Cross necklace to her chest. And Gabriel knew he had to uphold his promise.
