He lived his life in fear. And when he died, I wondered if I could have done anything to make his time here less painful. I’ve thought and I’ve thought but I still cannot think of anything I could do, although it is fruitless now. But even if I got another chance, though it is impossible, I still would not know what to tell him.
He was afraid of the future, but the future can’t be avoided. He was afraid of his past, but the past can’t be changed. But worst of all, he was afraid of the present, and the present only lasts a fleeting moment before becoming the past itself, and what can one do in one moment?
He was afraid of the things that had gone wrong, of the things that might still go wrong and of the moment that is now in which he could do little more than be afraid. Since he spent all his life being afraid and worrying, he did not have any time to do anything else, including whatever was required to allay his fears. He continued to be afraid and as a result, he continued to be afraid. Consequently, he just continued to be afraid. I kept waiting for him to overcome a part of his fears so that I could snatch the opportunity and help him overcome the rest of them. But that time never came. If you don’t face your fears yourself, no amount of support makes any difference.
And now, he is gone. And at the last moment before he went, I could see a glimmer of hope in his eyes. A small indication that he was finally over a part, however infinitesimal a part that might have been, of his fears. Alas! It was too late.