If there's one thing I don't like about hospitals it's the smell. Like disinfectant were sprayed all over the place, or as if the air itself was been sterilized. That was the smell that went straight to my nose the moment I stepped into St. Mary's general hospital. I was just returning from school. I wasn't even supposed to be here. At least, not like this. "Over here," my mother called from the corner of the waiting room. She was seating on one of the plastic chairs. My younger brother, Daniel, sat besides her with his earbuds in, trying to act detached. "What's happening?" I asked. "It's your Uncle," she said, looking elsewhere. "He collapsed at work. They're running tests." Uncle Jude wasn't technically my Uncle. H was my mother's cousin, but he had been around since before I could remember. He was the one who taught me how to ride a bicycle, who slipped me sweets at family gatherings, who always told the same jokes over and over again but laughed harder at them than anyone else. And now, he was somewhere behind those double doors, fighting for his life. Daniel pulled out one earbud. "So what exactly happened?" My mother sighed. "They think it might have been his heart. But we don't know. The doctor will be here a minute." I nodded but couldn't sit still. I just kept staring at the double doors, hoping they'll swing open any second. A nurse finally showed up, with a clipboard in hand. "Family of Mr. Kalu Okoye?" We raised to our feet immediately. "They've stabilized him," she said. "He's unconscious but very weak. You can see him, one at a time." My mother went first, leaving me together with Daniel. When it was my turn, the nurse guided me through a narrow corridor. There he was. Uncle Kalu lay on the bed, with oxygen mask over his face. When he saw me, he eyes lit up. "Ah my boy," he said when the nurse adjusted his mask briefly. "Hey, Uncle," I said with a shaky voice. "You look... taller," he said with a grin on his face. "Still hiding your report cards from your mother?" Despite myself, I laughed. "Not anymore. You scared us." He coughed, which made the machines beep louder. I reached for his hand. It felt a warm. "Listen," he whispered. "Don't waste time. You hear me? Life...is shorter than it feels." I wanted to tell him not to talk like that, but he kept gazing at me that made me unable to. The nurse touched my shoulder gently. "We should let him rest." Reluctantly, I let go of his hand. "We'll come back tomorrow," I said. "That's okay," he replied. Back in the waiting room, I sank into the chair beside Daniel. My mother returned soon after, with an expression on her face I was having a hard time understanding. We didn't speak much. At one point, Daniel whispered, "Do you think he'll make it?" I stared at the floor, "I don't know." He put back his earbud in his ear on continued on with his music. Two days later, Uncle Kalu was gone. It happened suddenly. One moment, reports of progress; the next, a call in the middle of the night. Cardiac arrest. They tried, the doctor said. But his body was too weak. It was a really disheartening news. At the funeral, people spoke of his kindness, his humor, his generosity. I stood near the back, watching the casket being lowered into the ground, and thought about the words he said in that hospital room. Don't waste time. Weeks passed. We all tried to return to our regular lives. But I carried his words with me everywhere I went. One evening, I found myself on an old basketball court near our house, the one Uncle Kalu used to take me to. I picked up the ball and started shooting. I remember how he used to cheer me up, shouting, "Aim higher, boy!" even when I missed every shot. I smiled as a tear rolled down the side of my face. I was forever going to miss him, that's for sure.
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