So is it Alright to Let Go?

It was the 5th of May. A Monday. Everything was everything. Morning, cereal, notebook, everything. And then the phone rang.
“Afiah?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Chachu there?”
“No, but I can take a message.”
“You guys need to come to St. Vincent’s as soon as you can.”
“What happened?”
When I look back, it’s like I already knew. He hadn’t come back the previous night. He wasn’t the type to disappear and re-appear the next day.
“It’s bhaiya.”
“We’ll be right there.”
I didn’t need to ask what had happened. I knew only too well. How many times had I seen this? In movies, on the roads, in my nightmares. It was always the same.

The emergency room was practically bursting. ‘Seems like a good night for business’ I remember thinking sardonically, only to berate myself the moment I’d thought it.

There he was. A couple of casts, some bandages, but nothing looked very bad. It looked like a minor accident. Nothing to be very worried about. Sadly, you can’t really tell when someone has a coma. ‘This isn’t happening. What are we in? A fucking saas-bahu serial? Accident? Truck? Coma?’ I thought to myself. I guess I was deluding myself. I never thought something like this could happen in real life, to people I loved.
And love him, I did. Bhaiya and I might have lived in separate continents, but we were always close. It wasn’t the typical older brother-little sister relationship. There wasn’t much ‘I’ll kill the guy who even touches you’. There was no over-protection. None of the typical things. He was more of a friend than a brother. I could talk to him about anything, which I did. He was always ready with advice and solutions.

I sat by the bed the whole day. I talked to him, when everyone else was outside, or getting coffee or talking to the doctor. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t hear me. All that mattered is that I had so much to tell him, in case I didn’t get a chance again.

That evening, the heartbeat-machine-thingummy started beeping abmormally. Nurses were informed, doctors paged.
“It had to happen eventually. There’s nothing we can do.”
*beep, beep, beep*
“Not even try?”
*beep, beep, beep*
“I’m sorry, but this is it.”
*beep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep*
I didn’t break down and cry. I didn’t fall to my knees. I just stood there, numb and vacant. I couldn’t take it in, I didn’t want to. I envied those who were crying, it seemed like the right thing to do. i couldn’t cry. How are you supposed to grieve someone when you don’t believe they’re really gone?

It took me a while. To come around to the fact that this was really the end. I still didn’t cry. Maybe I did, once or twice, but I spent most of my time contemplating.

I guess, at some level, I still don’t believe he’s gone. I know he’s dead, to put it bluntly, but that doesn’t mean I really believe it. ‘Were 14 years really enough? The 14 short years of my life? Were they enough to get to know him? Enough not to miss him?’ But of course not. I’ll always miss him.

Lately, though, what with everything that’s been going on, I’ve had less time to contemplate. Less time to spend in the past, and more of a reason to live the present.

Does it mean I don’t care any more? Or is it really alright to let go?