Tak Seimbang, Berjalan Tanpa Kamu

Looking back now, I realize I had already prepared to bring you home.

The hospital was great, the nurses were kind, and the doctors were amazing. But deep down, I knew—I would bring you home eventually. You were always meant to come home.

While you were in the hospital, so many reached out to help, offering support—financially, emotionally. I was never alone, yet I had never felt lonelier.

2 October 2024
The day the doctor told me.
Stage 4 cancer.

I took a deep breath. The doctor looked at me, waiting for my response, but I had no words. My only question was, Is he in pain?

The doctor suggested radiotherapy. Again, I asked, Will he be in pain? I didn’t want you to suffer. The doctor assured me they would do everything to keep you comfortable.

10 October
You were moved from the Neuro ward to Oncology. By then, you were unconscious. But I still came, giving you milk, making sure you got your medicine. The nurses and doctors here were stricter—perhaps they were exhausted.

Kak Ina, Ibu, and sometimes Kak Yah visited. They asked why you were always asleep. I had no real answer. I just said, Maybe it’s the medicine, so he stays comfortable.

But I knew.
They had started you on morphine.
You must have been in so much pain, sayang. I’m sorry.

15 October
The doctors told me you had finished radiotherapy. You can bring him home.

I asked to take you home on the 18th.

For two days, I made the necessary arrangements.
✔ Rented a hospital bed
✔ Bought a PVC mattress + ripple mattress (I had ordered them earlier)
✔ Got approval to work from home
I was ready.

18 October
Sayang, you came home. I was so happy.

I did my best to make you comfortable.
I’m sorry I wasn’t as skilled as the hospital staff.
Changing your diapers was an experience—one that left me lying down, exhausted.

But know this, sayang—I never regretted taking care of you.
I was proud to do it.
Giving you milk, your medicine, every four hours.
It was never a burden.

The only thing I complained about? Why didn’t I learn how to lift you earlier?
Maybe you would’ve been more comfortable.
I should have done more for you.
I had a plan, sayang.
A spreadsheet.
I was ready to care for you for a year.

22 October
4:30 PM—After feeding you, giving your medicine, and wiping your body. You were burning up. Demam, sayang.

Then I noticed—your fingernails were turning blue. Are you cold inside? But your body was still so warm.

I placed a wet towel on your forehead.
Then, I continued my work.

At 5:03 PM, I heard you take a deep breath—
And then… nothing.

I panicked. I rushed to you.
I called your name. I shook you.
With trembling hands, I dialed 999.

"Male patient, 43 years old, stage 4 cancer. He suddenly stopped breathing."

They told me to do chest compressions.
I did it, sayang. I pressed your chest over and over.
Did it hurt? I’m so sorry.
I was crying as I did it. Come back, sayang.
But deep down, I already knew.

Alhamdulillah, Agus was there. He was fixing the lights. He took over the compressions while I called our family.
Strangely, I couldn’t reach anyone.

Then the ambulance arrived.
They put the machine on you.
And I knew.

I asked them to do compressions for another two minutes.
But I knew.

The medical officer looked at me and confirmed it.

"He’s gone."

In my heart, I told myself—
Sayang is no longer in pain. Allah has taken him back.

But another voice inside me whispered—
Sayang is no longer with me.

I sent a simple message to our family.
And to my boss: I lost him.

Then, everyone came, all at once.
The crying, the questions.
But I just sat there, looking at you.
Feeling… numb.

Sayang, rest now.

My love for you is as high as the sky, as deep as the ocean.
But Allah loves you more.

Tak seimbang. Berjalan tanpa kamu.