Love in the ICU

On the verge of death, he was.
He knew he was dying. The beeping machines were reminding him of every time his heart beat. The pulse oximeter on his finger. The wires attached to his chest.
The beeping was so continuous and so persistent that it began to sound like a countdown timer. A countdown in which we didnt know when it'd stop, but we were sure it'd stop eventually.
He opened his eyes and asked me the time.
"It's 2 oclock in the morning, father"
He nodded. "2 oclock in the morning.." he repeated thoughtfully.
I wondered what he was thinking and whether 2 am meant anything to him. In that intensive care unit, day was like night.
Even daylight doesnt dare enter such places.
Not because it's scary. But because it's the place where most human beings die slowely. In nature, these people would have died long ago. It is their natural course. However, human 'advancement' has allowed people to live longer and die slower.
He cleared his throat. "Do you know that I taught my children to love...to truely love. Do you know that?"
I smiled and asked him how. He went on to say, "I'm talking about unconditional love. The love that isnt associated with what you do or what you look like. For example, you are standing here a beautiful young girl...that's not the reason to love someone. But real love is to love for everything a person is, as a whole. Just like that."
I nodded again.
"My children love just the way I taught them, I'm not a philosopher but I've seen a lot from life..." he stopped and I could instantly read his face changing and crumpling with emotion.
I looked down to give him a chance to regain his composure.
He said gently "You can go now, please"
I nodded without looking up and walked away.
After a few minutes I returned to tell him that if he needed anything, I'll be waiting a few meters away.
He didnt answer and his eyes were closed, but I am certain he heard me.
I wonder if I'll find him in this state tomorrow.
It is intruiging that most of the patients I speak to in the hospital, when they know they are ill or on the verge of death, they never speak about their financial accomplishments or what they've won or the positions they have reached.
They talk about family and love and mercy and God.
They speak of loved ones who have stood by them, or have died. Their eyes overflow with tears and they bite their lips trying to control their emotions.
They speak of God's blessings and how they were saved or looked after by God.
They give advice like "keep your heart pure" "forgive" "love openly" "submit to God" "always be grateful"
They'd say "alhamdulilah" and sigh.
They feel self pity, some of them. And some, feel as if they've been given a pass to a new level of spirituality.
I treasure my moments with the terminally ill.
I wonder if I'll die a slow death and get the chance to reflect and give advice too. I wonder what I'll say or what I'll cry about.
What memory will make me bite my lip and look away and fight back tears?
As I write this, I am fighting tears already thinking about what I might cry for. I might cry for how I've lived so well and been blessed so much yet not giving enough to pay back some of the debt.
I might cry for the gentleness and love of my parents for me and how I sometimes returned it with harshness and how I regret that.
I might cry for not being grateful when the whole world was at my feet.
I might cry for not asking for forgiveness when I should have done so, to someone I have wronged

It the things we didnt do, that would make us cry.
I'll try to remember that.